


If You Will

by glackedandmullered



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, werewolves but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glackedandmullered/pseuds/glackedandmullered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is an unpresented wolf from a pureblood Alpha Family. After being forced out of his home by his mother, he sets on a path to find his mate, what he gets is not what he could have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

\---

In short, Michael Jones was a failure, a disappointment; to his family, his legacy, to himself. 

\---

“You need to present already,” his brother grumbled, climbing off Michael who whimpered beneath him, “you’re no fun like this.”

At fifteen years old, with a twenty year old Alpha brother, Michael was used to it. They had always been scrappy siblings, from the moment Michael was born it seemed all his older brother wanted to do was tackle him and battle, only waiting until Michael was old enough to take a hit due to his mother's disapproval. 

Neither she nor their father put a stop to the fights, even when they ended with bumps, bruises, and broken bones - mainly, if not solely, on Michael’s part. 

“It’s classic Alpha behaviour,” the patriarch declared proudly after Michael ended up in the hospital at eight years old with a concussion and shattered wrist. It was no surprise that there were no consequences. Michael’s family owned that town.

_Classic Alpha_ the thoughts that kept Michael going year after year through all the injuries and battles, as the fights got worse and - instead of fighting back just as strong - Michael found himself relenting time after time. He began wondering why he wasn’t quite as forthcoming when these scraps were initiated. 

_It’s just because he’s older._

It kept him hopeful even though his attitude remained the same as he too, grew. 

As descendants of the first Alpha’s to grace the United States, Michael’s family had been known as consistently early presenters for generations, and Michael’s brother was no different. At fifteen he woke up one day with glowing red eyes which burned into Michael’s conscious, and a strength ten times that which he had before. 

Ten year old Michael held his breath, realizing he possibly only had five years left for things to change. 

But fifteen came and went in a flurry of school and questions. 

Sixteen consisted of the same type of stuff. He watched the calendar flick over month after month, waiting late at night for the telltale signs of change. 

Nothing. 

For his eighteenth birthday his parents got him a blood test. 

“We need to make sure,” was his Mother’s only reasoning when he woke up to a needle already embedded in the crook of his elbow. 

_Need to make sure that I’m yours?_ he thought idly, purposely avoiding shifting his eyes down to the pulling feeling of blood leaving his veins, _or make sure I’m not defective._

It was probably a combination of both. He wasted the whole day like that, not allowed to leave the house until the test results came back; he waited on the front porch, sharing horror stories with his best friend Lindsay. She leaned close to the front gates, pressing her face between the bars because the matriarch of the household refused to unlock the entrance for anyone but the courier. 

Even when he arrived, she was still not allowed in. 

His results were there, clear as day, _positive._ He had the gene, it just wasn’t working right now, and that did nothing to placate Michael’s mother. 

\---

“Maybe you’re not gonna present,” Lindsay commented on his nineteenth birthday, chewing a mouthful of steak with her strong, Alpha fangs. 

She’d presented a couple of weeks before, screaming down the phone to her best friend who immediately slammed the phone down because why did she get to be so lucky?

“Or maybe I’m a late bloomer like you,” he teased, gnawing through the tough, takeout burger with teeth still blunt as the day they first grew in. 

Lindsay coughed and pulled back, mocking offense, “I’ll have you know I was the earliest presenter in my family for three generations,” she said, puffing out her chest. 

Michael scoffed, “And yet you’re ragging on me?”

“I’m only just eighteen,” she corrected, “even my family had presented by your age.”

For the first time, Michael found himself wondering if maybe she was right, he wasn’t going to present, maybe the wolf genes had met their maker inside his body. 

What a fucking disappointment he would be. 

As he dropped his head to the table with a groan, he felt a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m kidding,” he heard Lindsay assure overhead, “your family are _the_ Alphas, you’re definitely gonna present.” 

He turned his head to the side and met her eyes, “And if I don’t?” he asked quietly. 

She sighed and took his hand, thumb stroking soothing patterns on the soft skin. 

“You will.”

\---

He didn’t. 

His mother cornered him in the hallway in one of the upper wings of the house. Away from prying eyes and any windows.

Not long twenty one years old, his body as natural as the day he was born, Michael was pretty surprised that it had taken her that long to confront the issue. 

“You need to get your shit together,” she said forcefully, slamming the palm of her hand against the wall to Michael’s right, effectively stopping him from carrying on into the main body of the house. He blinked slowly, his eyes flicking to the side - anywhere but her face - as he gulped.

He frowned, trying to keep his voice steady, “Excuse me?” he said, noting with concern the flash of red that darted across her eyes. 

She snarled and stepped close to him, her youthful skin showing unseen crinkles at the close proximity, “Do you know what this is doing to our reputation? You and your... _deficit_ genes?”she hissed, although it didn’t seem to Michael that this was a question she wished him to answer. 

His mother was a formidable woman at the best of times, straight cut and vicious she was an opponent not to be messed with; but now, with her upper lip curled and eyes darkening, she was downright terrifying. 

“We are the top dogs here, _the_ Alpha’s and you know that. What do you suppose they’re all thinking now, huh? Out there in our streets, all of those _worms,_ how are they going to react to a member of the leading family being _human.”_

Michael shook his head weakly, “Th-the test said-”he cursed his shaky voice as the woman cut him off with a sneer.

“I don’t give a shit what the test said, you’re nearly twenty fucking one and we haven’t seen a peep out of you.”

Her hand left the wall and circled his arm tightly “You’re a disgrace,” In the overhead light, Michael could see her nail beds darkening as her claws began to shift, neat manicure turning into more solid rusty looking claws. 

“Here’s how this is going to go,” she snarled, the grip getting tighter with every passing second, “either you present as the Alpha your bloodline requires, or you get the _fuck_ away from here- away from us.”

Michael’s eyebrows knitted together, frowning, her claws had begun to pierce the soft flesh of his arm, slicing wide crescents that dribbled blood, “What do you mean? You want me to leave?”

Their eyes met in a cold stare. 

“Leave, die, I don’t care. But I’m not allowing a _human_ to taint this family’s future,” she pushed him back to emphasize, her inhuman strength causing him to stagger and stumble back. Unable to catch himself, he dropped to the ground, the impact sending a shockwave like a rocket up Michael’s spine. 

He lifted his back off the ground with legs out in front of him, his mother looming over him. 

“Your ancestors would be ashamed.”

As she stalked away, Michael let his body relax, barely even noting the brisk pain as his head hit the wall behind. 

\---

"They aren't deep, I don't think they'll scar.”

Michael’s advanced healing wouldn’t kick in until his genes did, and he was grateful that Lindsay had a shred of knowledge about wound care. After sitting on the cold stone floor for an embarrassing amount of time he’d found the strength to lift his shaking body and escaped the house through the back door. 

Lindsay lived barely ten minutes away on foot, in a house much smaller than Michael’s own stately manor. Since her Mom’s accident it had only been Lindsay and her Dad living in the space, it always smelled like wood chips and damp leaves, yet more homely than Michael experienced in his own house. 

Pulling his arm back, fingers softly touching the pad of gauze that Lindsay taped over the, now clean, wounds, he smiled, “Thanks, Linds.” 

“Anytime,” she replied, smiling back, after a beat she added, “but that doesn’t mean let this happen again.” 

He tucked his knees up to his chest, wilting before her eyes, “If I can’t present, I don’t think it could. She doesn’t want to see me.” 

“She really gave you an ultimatum?” Lindsay asked, abandoning the menial task of clean up in favor of her friends anguish. Michael nodded, picking at the hem of his shirt.

“Yep, present or get the fuck out of New Jersey.” 

The Alpha growled, fingers clawing at the wooden floor absently, “That woman is fucking insane, you’re her son, she can’t just drop kick you to the curb because you aren’t what she expected,” she gouged out a handful of splintered wood in her hands and stopped, seeing the dejected look on his face she corrected herself, “because you’re might not be what she expected.”

Michael shook, tucking his head into the space between his knees and chest, “I appreciate the effort, Lindsay, but she’s right. I’m a disgrace,” he mumbled into his jeans. LIndsay jumped to her knees, dropping the splinters to the floor and chose to ignore the ones embedded in her skin. She could get them out later. 

Her hand found his hair and encouraged him to look up with a light tug, “Michael Jones you are no such thing.” 

To her surprise, his eyes were red rimmed and watering; his face pale. 

“I’m twenty-one, Lindsay!” he choked, voice thick with emotion, “ I can legally get fucking smashed, but for whatever reason, I’m broken enough _not_ to present. My entire family is made up of Alphas, I can’t just… this _has_ to happen.”

Annoyed and frustrated with himself, and the embarrassing amount of water leaking from his eyes, he slammed the heel of his hand against his head once, twice, three times before Lindsay stopped him. Her skin felt soft against his wrist as she held it, her grip gentle but firm. In a familiar action, she began to move her thumb in precise circles around his pulse point. She could feel the blood pumping fast underneath the skin and his breathing quicken as he fought to hold in sobs. 

“You aren’t broken,” she admonished gently, “and it _is_ going to happen.”

He crumpled, his shoulders slumping as he let his head fall to her shoulder. She ignored the pressure of his knees against her chest as she swung her free arm around his back and held him close, “it’s too late for me. The genes fucked up, I’m fucked up.”

She patted his back once, firmly, “stop being such a drama queen,” there was a fondness in her voice which chipped at the coldness settling in Michael’s heart. 

Up until now it felt like he had been living borrowed time, like every second that passed by would inevitably be leading to the day when he would come into his own and pay back every moment he had lived. But with the ultimatum came a sort of...realization, that maybe everything _wouldn’t_ just fix itself. 

“You know I’d love you even if you didn’t present right? you’d have a home here,” Lindsay said as she pulled back. 

She gave him a well needed moment to wipe his eyes and gather his senses back before encouraging him to nod and smile, the expression more genuine than he was expecting.

“She isn’t worth that,” she said, gesturing to his red face. He only shrugged. 

“But,” the Alpha continued, “If you’re so set on that route then how about…” the words were uncharacteristically quiet.

“Have you considered trying to...you know...force presenting?”

Michael cocked his head in interest, “Force it?” 

She nodded, “Yeah, there are...methods, or so I’ve heard, to push your genes into developing,” she was speaking too carefully for Michael’s liking. The remainder of his tears dried up, leaving sticky trails down his face, but he pushed the feeling aside. 

“Methods,” Michael repeated slowly, “Lindsay please tell me what you’re talking about because this is starting to sound incredibly creepy.”

She smiled, “Oh god no, nothing weird, it’s just…” she hesitated, seemingly unsure of how to approach the subject, “some people say that finding your mate and getting them to _scent_ with you can kick start your system so to speak.”

“Nothing weird she says,” he scoffed, backtracking after a moment, “I don’t know my mate,”

“I don’t even know if I _have_ a mate,” he continued.

She shrugged and finally started to pick at the splinters in her hand, “If you have the gene, you have a mate, it’s scientifically proven.”

Skin had already started to heal over the tiny pieces of wood and Michael winced in sympathy as she dug a sharp nail beneath the surface to extract the blood soaked splinters. She didn’t even flinch. He was once again reminded how different the two of them were. 

“It’s also scientifically proven that ninety-nine percent of genetic carriers present before they’re twenty,” he responded, taking his eyes off the tiny rivers of blood running down her hand. 

She laughed, “So there’s a one percent isle for you to fit into,” the holes had already healed by the time she wiped over them with a wipe from the first aid kit, still open and the contents strewn on the floor. 

Michael groaned, “okay so say this is true, I have a mate somewhere out there and finding them can somehow attribute to making me _finally_ present,” she nodded, “how the fuck do you propose I find said mate.”

“Well,” she hesitated, “I sort of have a plan for that.” 

He stared at her, “A plan? Geez Linds how long have you been sitting on that?” her hands picked at the healed skin. 

“Since your nineteenth birthday, when I was scared you were going to give up on yourself,” she admitted. Michael stared back at her in surprise.

“Two years?!”

She immediately held her hands up in defense and shrugged guiltily, “I wasn’t sure how to tell you,”

Michael sighed but looked on, intrigued, “go on then, what’s the plan?” 

With a big grin she brushed off her jeans and stood, shuffling over to her closet and disappearing behind the oak door for a solid minute before reappearing. 

In her hand was a bulbous glass vial, stoppered with a black cork, just over the size of a shot glass. 

“Lindsay…” he ventured cautiously. 

“Hear me out,” she interrupted before another word could leave his lips, “I got this stuff from a guy at school, you drink it,”

“A guy at school,” Michael repeated, “you want me to drink something you got from some random guy at school.”

She strode back towards him, “Shush, it’s designed to give you a vision, a picture in your head of the location of your mate.” 

“You got me drugs,” he said in disbelief, standing from the ground to meet her level. 

“It’s not drugs,” she ventured, “it’s a serum that digs out thoughts in your head, so deep down that even you can’t reach them,” she looked hopeful but he just shook his head. 

“It’s drugs.”

“It’s kind of drugs,” she relented. 

Michael let out a huff of air and groaned, “Fucking christ Lindsay, you want to drug me?”

She waved her hands in a placating motion, "Don’t say it like that, it works! I swear!" 

His eyebrow raised in doubt, "How would you know? You obviously haven’t used it." 

"You know I want to let fate take it’s own course,” she snapped back, “but I heard about this girl in school, used this stuff, a week later she was in Nevada with her beloved mate." 

Michael balked at the idea, “Coincidence? Placebo effect?”

“Spirit walk,” she corrected, regretting the decision as Michael’s eyes widened, humored.

“Spirit walk,” he repeated with a smirk, “definitely drugs.”

“Just because it has a stupid name, doesn’t mean it doesn’t work,” she defended lightly.

Michael studied her for a moment, eyes moving from the vial to her face and back again. It was hidden in her hand but the knowledge of what it contained gave him an uneasy feeling, “I didn’t think you were into this new age hippy shit.”

“I’m into anything that’ll make you happy again,” she said sadly, eyeline flicking to the ground. 

Michael lips snapped shut, stunning him into silence again before he choked out, “Well played, Tuggey,” the smile tugging at her lips said she knew she had him in the palm of her hand. 

He relented, holding his hand out expectantly, “let me see it.” 

The bottle was placed in the centre of his hand and the first thing he noticed was the surprising weight. He wasn’t sure if the product was denser than average liquid or if it was simply the thought of it’s contents giving him a false sense of scale but either way it felt like a boulder as he held it before his face. 

The contents themselves were just another scale of unusual. Black as night with a shimmer swirling through almost like a galaxy, it reminded him of the images in old physics textbooks, before they were printed in colour. Like a photo in a newspaper, swirling and dancing before his eyes. 

It was beautiful, but moved thickly and, the more he looked at it, noticed the resemblance of sludge. Glittery sludge.

“No way am I putting that shit in my body,” he declined finally, “it looks like fucking tar.” 

“Not thick enough,” she informed him, taking the vial back and giving it a shake. 

The liquid left an ashy trail in the wake of its turning. 

“I don’t know, Lindsay…” he hedged, hesitant to have the product in his possession but found it returned to him anyway.

She crossed her arms and whined, “Come on, Michael. It can’t hurt to try.”

“Oh it can definitely hurt,” he said, but grudgingly popped the cork off regardless. 

He raised the bottle to his eyes, twisting and turning it between his fingers and watched the contents move before his sight.

“I’ve been advised you shouldn’t smell it,” she recommended as he moved the vial towards his lips.

Well that was just an invitation to do just that and in seconds he knew why he’d been discouraged. The smell was utterly repulsive, somewhere between week old vomit and stale gas fumes, and threw Michael back a step in surprise. 

Lindsay snorted with laughter and Michael huffed.

“The whole thing?” he asked nervously, appraising the drug once more.

“I didn’t ask,” Lindsay admitted sheepishly. 

A split second decision and a _Now or never_ on his mind he lifted the vial. Holding his nose at the last second, Michael flashed Lindsay a grin.

“Bottoms up.”

Within a matter of seconds, the two of them realized that he should have probably sat down before chugging the drug. The world span, a rush going straight to his brain and he stumbled. 

He barely felt Lindsays arms close around him as he fell heavily to the ground, the vial dropping out of his vision into a swirl of black swallowing his sight. It could have smashed, he wouldn’t have known. 

He was out before Lindsay could lay him down.

_It was strange. A feeling akin to floating washed over his entire body but there was a heaviness in his heart that was dragging him down. Mountains and trees whipped by him in a dizzying dance, rolling hills and bright sunlight guiding his way._

_His head was fuzzy, everything in his peripheral vision blurred, but the road ahead seemed crisp and sharp. It was winding, a highway probably, he couldn’t tell._

_Empty, no cars in sight._

_Suddenly he was in a forest. The sky was dark but clear with a smattering of stars surrounding a large, bright fullmoon. The surface was dark with craters and blurred from sight before Michael could get a proper look._

_He stopped._

_No longer moving through the air, his body felt heavier, more solid and grounded. Heat burned his skin, like fire flicking at his arms as he stared out at the open road._

_Even his footsteps felt like a thousand pounds crushing the ground beneath him, vibrations shuddering through his body. Across from him was a worn out billboard. Not like the kind that sat high in big cities, this one was made entirely from rotting wood, the edges of the paper peeling up and flapping in the breeze. Brittle, dry grass flattened underneath his feet as he stepped closer and touched his fingers to the thick, paper-like surface, taking in the words painted precisely in a bright, vibrant red._

_Almost the second he touched it, he felt a jerk, right below his ribs. It yanked him away from the sign but he didn’t fall, didn’t stagger, in fact his feet weren’t even touching the ground anymore._

_Further and further he travelled, the sign turning to nothing more than a speck in the distance. The horizon melted away, blackness taking over his vision once again and-_

He came to with a convulsive jerk, his head pounding and Lindsay's hand calmly carding through his hair.

“So?” She asked expectantly, eyes bright.

He scrunched his face in concentration, trying to think around the dizzy, drowsy feeling thrumming through his veins. Once he was sure he could grasp the memory he looked her in the eye and cringed. 

“Texas.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A whole lot of travelling.

“It had to be fucking Texas didn’t it,” Michael mumbled, staring up at the state border from his place in the ditch, “of all the fucking places in all of the fucking world, it _had_ to be Texas.”

He’d had somewhat of an easy go of it so far. Sure, he had been travelling for two weeks solid, he was exhausted, and probably malnourished- but he was alive, and that was all that mattered. He’d chosen a path that took him across the middle of the country, through Ohio and Missouri and everything in between; it was a more roundabout route that took him a little longer to traverse but anything was better than going south. 

Everything south of Virginia was hell on earth for wolves, with Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia headlining the charge against the ‘mutated.’ They had sniffer dogs that snarled and paraded the borders, and a firm ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ policy all the way down to Florida. 

Florida was a haven. Sun, sea, and surf for everyone, no matter what the rest of the country thought. But if you weren’t born there, you’d probably never see it. 

The freight train had been surprisingly easy to hop onto. It pulled into a train yard just inside of Pennsylvania long enough and with enough cover from other trains for Michael to nip around the back and clamber into one of the boxcars towards the end. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t have made his own way through Penn, it was a safe state- blue all the way. That’s how they were taught back home. Thick bold markers in red, green, and blue handed to each of them as they struggled to memorise who was safe and who was not. 

“You’ll never leave New Jersey anyway, but it’s good to know where your allies lie,” his mother said as she took the pen from his hand and scrubbed over the ‘safe’ state of Oklahoma with red, the colours bleeding together to an ugly, bruise purple. 

He was actually quite glad he’d learned all that now. 

So, while he could have taken less of a risk and took the journey by foot, he didn’t much fancy a week long trek across the state. There was a reason people drove cars. 

Michael didn’t have a car - although Lindsay had offered hers before he departed - and the train seemed like the most solid option. In more ways than one.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen a train in the flesh, so to speak, and couldn't recall a single time he had been on one. Nothing went in or out of New Jersey anymore that needed something like freight to carry it; everything was brought to the Ports, they were isolated. That’s how they liked it. 

They were great, huge things, the trains. Thousands of tons of rusted metal that hurtled through countryside at destructive speeds. Even then, it took a few hours to pass through the state, and Michael passed the time staring at the contents of his backpack. 

Lindsay - like a den mother, she joked - packed him a case of food, sandwiches and snacks that he had balked at to start but it gave him a warm feeling in his chest whenever he looked at the bag. He’d have to trash it, dispose of it somewhere along the way once the food ran out, but for now it was a welcome weight on his back. 

Inside the main pack was a handful of maps, pages torn out of a bigger book with marker bleeding through the paper. He dragged thick red across the state lines that led to the south, keeping him within the safe borders. First Pennsylvania, which was half way complete with the sun setting behind him, then into Ohio - another state which he shouldn’t encounter any trouble with. Ohio to Illinois was the first hurdle for him to leap. 

Smack bang in the middle was Indiana, a blood stain across his path and his only option would be north into Michigan. But, unless he was suddenly brave enough to swim across Lake Michigan to Wisconsin, he’d _have_ to brave Indiana. If just for a few miles. 

He chewed on the core of an apple as he flicked between the pages. While he’d been able to sit in the open doorway of the car for most of the journey, with the sun on his face and fall breeze chilling his lungs, they were hitting the cities and towns now. He tucked himself into the back corner and mulled over his thoughts. 

He wasn’t sure of the politics of it all, only the information hammered into his brain that there were certain places he just shouldn’t go in the country. Even a wolves advanced healing was nothing against a shotgun shell to the head or chest, and these red states aimed well. Look for the bible bashers and you’ll find red. That was the simplest way to remember, the only warning you’d get would be a scream or yell of ‘unnatural’ and ‘abominations of the Lord’ as bullets whizzed past if you were able to dodge them. 

He hopped off the train just outside of Coraopolis as it slowed to a halt. It could have been anything, a scheduled stop, a route change, but Michael couldn’t risk an inspection so he abandoned his safe transport and ducked into the trees that lined the track. 

Only a handful of trains passed in one day, so he felt no fear in trekking alongside the line to keep him heading in the right direction. The woods were dangerous, even just for the likelihood of getting completely turned around and stuck until you inevitably starve and die. Dramatic, but true. 

It took him half a day to realise he'd left his phone on the train.

Either that or it was lying on the ground somewhere on his route. It was a waste of time going back, a brand new iPhone like that? Someone would have grabbed it if he'd left it anywhere easy to find. Instead he mourned the loss for an hour or so before treading his charger into the dirt in frustration. 

\---

He managed to travel a good distance into Ohio thanks to an incredibly lucky encounter with a truck driver called Adam who was passing by the highway as Michael made his slow way through the last few miles of Pennsylvania. 

Adam was nice. Tall and broad with a thick beard and septum piercing; though Michael may have been wary at first, any concern quickly melted away at the sight of video game memorabilia lining the dashboard and a photograph of a small kitten taped to the inside of the windshield. 

“His name is Solaire,” he informed Michael fondly, smiling at the picture. His voice was soft with only a hint of gruffness and Michael enjoyed the tone.

“He’s cute,” Michael said, running his fingers over the smooth vinyl of a Yoshi figurine that was wedged between the face of the radio and a cup holder stuffed with stacked up coffee cups. 

Adam nodded, “Damn right he is.” 

Pennsylvania soon disappeared in the wake of long stretches of highway. He and Adam didn’t talk much, instead blasting songs on the radio as the truck carried on it’s course. He didn’t complain when Michael kicked his feet up on the dashboard, and laughed at his attempted drum solo on the roof of the cab. 

They pulled in at a rest stop about an hour into Ohio. It wasn’t much, just a burger joint and a worn out drinks truck on a dirt track but the food was good and the company was pleasant. Adam was insistent on paying as he ordered two large burger meals, complete with what must have been a bucket of fries and coke in a cup so large they might as well have thrown in the whole bottle. As much as Michael felt he should turn the offer down, he stayed silent all the way to the table. 

“So,” Adam started, mouthing the words around a mouthful of burger, “what brings you to Ohio?”

Michael shrugged, “Just passing through.”

He tucked the wrapper around the base of his burger and took a large bite. It was good, there was a smoky aftertaste that settled on his palette but otherwise he couldn’t complain. Lindsay’s sandwiches were tasty, but nothing compared to a good burger. 

It was a minute or so of silence before Adam spoke again. 

“Got far to go?” 

“Texas,” Michael replied simply, wiping sauce away from the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

Adam cringed, “I wish I could take you further.”

"You've done plenty," Michael assured, "I'd probably still be in Penn without you." 

The bearded man laughed, "On those skinny legs yeah," he joked, Michael mocked offense but Adam was already standing and taking his trash to the receptacle in the corner. 

Adam didn’t ask what ‘species’ he was and Michael didn’t bring it up either. 

As they settled back into the cab, Michael decided that he could have happily ridden in that truck for the next few states, but once Adam had refuelled the vehicle he was heading off to Montana, completely the wrong direction for Michael.

Regardless, in the morning when Michael woke up, they were a mile outside of Michigan and Michael couldn't find the words to express his gratitude that the driver had gone so far out of his way for a person he'd barely known a few days. 

\---

"It was nice meeting you, Michael," Adam said, reaching out a hand for him to shake, "I wish you the best on your journey." 

Michael grinned, "Thanks, Adam, for everything," he replied earnestly. 

Adam clapped him on the shoulder and started to climb back into the cab.

Something sprung to his mind and Michael started, "Wait!" He called out. Adam stopped with one foot on the step and turned, concern and question in his expression. 

"One last favor?" Michael ventured, "can I borrow your phone?" 

A wave of relief washed over Adams face and he nodded, digging the object out of his phone as he stepped back down to the ground.

Michael tapped in the memorised number easily as Adam stepped away to give him privacy. 

No one answered.

"Lindsay," Michael began as the voicemail ticked over, "it's me, well of course it's me, I hope you haven't forgotten my voice already," he laughed to himself. 

"I'm heading into Michigan, I met this guy who gave me a ride here from Penn, don't worry he didn't do anything nefarious. Anyway I just wanted to give you a call since I kinda lost my phone and I’m gonna have to give this one back to Adam.”

He glanced back at the guy sitting in the cab, “Anyway I guess I better go, don’t bother calling back when you get the message, I’m about to leave my travelling companion behind so you’d just get him.” 

He paused, wondering when the next chance to contact her would come, “Okay well, bye Lindsay.” 

Adam climbed out of the truck as Michael waved his hand with the phone, signalling that he was done. 

He handed it back over with a quick expression of thanks and Adam hesitated. His other hand was closed tightly into a fist around something and Michael frowned. 

“Look,” he started, “this is cheesy as fuck but if you knew me longer you’d know that I _am_ cheesy as fuck like half the time so…” as he trailed off he held out his close fist and opened it, fingers rolling away from the object in his palm.

It was a tiny plush cat. Around the size of his palm, sewn into a sitting position it had a tiny plastic pink nose that was slightly worn and scratched; the fur was a dark brown, fading to rusty orange in certain patches. 

Michael looked at it in question and Adam grabbed his hand, forcing the soft toy into his palm. 

“It’s been with me since I got the truck, I like to think it brings good fortune. You take it,” he insisted as Michael tried to hand it back, “you’re gonna need more luck than me getting all that way.”

He didn’t even know that Michael was a wolf, he didn’t seem to care, but Michael got the instinctive feeling that he had figured it out.

“I gotta get going before I lose the light,” Adam said finally, his attention leaving Michael who was dumbly staring at the toy in his hand. 

“Maybe we’ll meet again one day.” 

Then he was gone, his truck disappearing back onto the highway leaving Michael stood at the gas pump until a car pulled up behind him and honked the horn so loudly Michael jumped out of his skin. 

“Okay, okay,” he placated, stepping onto the grass verge to the side to let the car pull up at the pump.

He tucked the little cat into the front pocket of his backpack, giving the head a little pat affectionately before he swung it back over his shoulder, picked up the food bag, and started off down the side of the highway with Ohio behind him and the Michigan sign coming up slowly. 

\---

As far as no go states went, Indiana was by far one of the better. 

After his brief excursion through Michigan Michael found himself before the border. He had only ever seen pictures of the borders, and those were mainly from the 1950’s when the states were first putting up a front against the new changes. Not that the existence of wolves was by any means a new thing, they’d been around longer than that, but the rights and legislations really took shape somewhere around 1958. From there it was all ‘make your stand’ or let the heathens in. 

Some States had sense. Some didn’t. 

Indiana was one of those tag along states, separate from the south but the Governor wanted unity with them, so they closed their borders to wolves. At the end of the day they had no power to do anything. They had a weak police force, subpar security, and their detection rates were in the lowest percentages. Though their official forces may not have been a force to be reckoned with, it was the locals that travellers had to worry about. 

They were gun happy and proud of it. 

On top of the unsurety of the fleeting visit, unfortunately Michigan was also where Michael ran out of food. He shouldn’t have done it, the feast he’d decided to have by the Lake; it only left him with half a sandwich which he scoffed down in the last mile before crossing the border. It had been so nice though, just waiting by the Lake, watching the water ripple in the breeze, like he wasn't on his own in a place unknown. Soon enough, however, he had to pack up and leave, tossing the pack into a trash can as he passed. Dimly he wondered if Lindsay had listened to his message. 

Sticking to his map - which was his main priority - took him through a slew of residential areas, complete with rows of shaded houses, tall arching trees, and winding streets that each looked the same as the next. He wasn’t about to scam a ride, not here; so, once the sky began to dim and he realised he was losing light fast, he had to find somewhere to hide for the night. 

Some random dude walking the streets in the middle of the night would probably draw some attention. 

From ten in the morning until nine o’clock at night he walked, and he only managed to make it halfway across the route he needed to take. Another eleven hours and he might just make it out of Indiana unscathed. 

The community centre inside Portlage gave him a place to rest. Not inside, inside there were too many people, too much noise, but there was a line of trash cans around the back that gave Michael good cover to duck down and close his eyes. 

He didn’t sleep. Not a single wink, he couldn’t risk being caught off guard, but he was lucky that the cover did him good. 

Unpresented, he didn’t smell like wolf, didn’t _look_ like wolf, Lindsay assured him that before he left; but there was _something_ about him, like there was _something_ about the other wolves he grew up with that just screamed inhuman. It was that thought in his head that kept him under the cover of night and away from prying eyes of the town.

By the end of the second day he was exhausted. He couldn’t cover nearly as much ground while his legs were aching and his stomach was dropping out from being so hungry. Two days had gone by before he even realised, in the nerves about travelling through a red state, he’d forgotten the cash in his wallet. 

_A couple of hours and I’ll be out of the State, I shouldn’t push my luck,_ he thought as he trudged into another town. His stomach growled violently in response. 

A glowing 7:11 sign assaulted his eyes as he rounded a corner and his resolve melted. 

Before he could get closer than a few steps away from the door he heard a whistle. 

"Yo, kid." A female voice hissed. 

A face peeked out from an alleyway across from Michael. Bright eyes stared at him past large, thick framed glasses and he pointed at himself dumbly. 

"You're literally the only person on the street, fucking come here," her eyes shifted from one end of the street to the next and Michael hesitated. 

The age old warning 'don't talk to strangers' sprang to mind immediately followed by 'especially not in a state that wants people like you dead,' but he wouldn’t have had a chance to run even if his instincts informed him that he should because, a moment later, a tall, dark haired girl had emerged from the shade and grabbed hold of his arm. He barely managed to struggle against her strong grip as he was dragged towards the alley against his will. 

“Calm down, we’re the good guys,” she insisted, keeping her voice low as the other girl had. 

There were three of them behind the wall. The redhead with glasses who had gained his attention, the brunette who let go of him only after pushing him forcefully to his knees, and a chubby guy reclined against the wall, fingers playing with the dirt underneath him. 

“What did you think you were doing?” redhead asked, glaring, “do you have a death wish?”

Michael stared at her, stunned. His knees were hurting from the sharp loose stones pressing through his jeans, and his stomach was complaining rather painfully after being denied food that had come so close. 

“Well?” she pressed when he didn’t reply. 

“Meg, calm your shit,” said the guy in the back. He pushed himself up and pulled his hands away from the dirt, eyes darting up lazily to meet Michael’s. “He’s not from around here.” 

Meg’s eyes widened and she backed off, “Of course you aren’t, shit I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine?” Michael replied slowly, daring to drop from his knees onto his bottom. 

“Meg’s the queen of bad first impressions,” the other girl drawled, “then again, good company is hard to find here, so we don’t get much practise,” Michael looked at her in question and she picked at the threadbare jeans she wore. They were black but caked in dirt at the base of each leg and torn up around the knees, and not in the fashion way either. 

“That place is a death trap,” she explained, pointing out to the 7:11 with the hand not pulling at loose thread, “full of wannabe rednecks who wouldn’t even care that you’re a wolf, you’d get shot just for being new.” 

Michael rolled his eyes and leaned back on his palms, “What’s with the trigger happy na- wait, wolf?” he cut himself off with a surprised yelp and they all nodded. 

“Weren’t you aware?” Meg replied dryly, “sorry to be the one to tell you.” 

“No, no _I_ know,” Michael stammered quickly, “but how did _you_ know?”

“You stink of it,” the guy replied as if it were obvious, “smelled you coming a mile off,”

The dark haired girl reached out and slapped him, “Kerry,” she warned, drawing out the name. 

“Arryn,” Kerry drawled, rubbing his arm where she had hit, he was mocking her, clearly, "I'm just telling it like it is, it's not like he can do anything about it." 

"Could have been more polite," Arryn relented, grumbling. After a pause she asked, “not known long?” 

Michael shook his head, “It’s not that, my friend back home said she couldn’t smell me.”

Arryn looked thoughtful, “She a wolf?”

Michael nodded, “Alpha.” 

“Probably why,” she reasoned, sharing a look with Kerry, “we’re all omega’s.”

Michael had no chance to question what she meant by that, for Meg jumped up suddenly, flying to her feet in a swift motion and turned to face them. 

“Cut this short guys, I can see him!” 

Something akin to excitement and shock flashed across Arryn’s before she too leapt to her feet. 

Michael jumped up too, following suit as Kerry did the same beside him, “Sorry, we’ve gotta leave you, got shit to do,” Meg said, running with grace out of the alley and across to the opposite wall. 

“Nice meeting you!” Arryn chirped as she passed him, following after Meg, “don’t get yourself killed before you leave!”

In the next second something was pressed into his hands, Kerry patted his shoulder as he looked down to see a bag of chips, open and half empty but still with plenty left. 

“Do yourself a favor and don’t bother stopping again, just go, might be quiet now but you don’t wanna stick around.” 

Michael nodded dumbly. He’d barely said five words to these people and yet he found himself feeling their loss as they darted out of sight. He dimly wished he had asked if they had a phone.

\---

Against Kerry’s advice, he stopped after a few more hours walking. The chips, while gratefully received, had done little to satisfy his hunger and he felt sluggish barely four hours into the walk out of Indiana. 

The sky had darkened once again, another day passing before his very eyes and he paused in front of a church. It was beaten up and broken down, the stone chiseled into nothing at the front yet the tall oak door remained standing strong in the frame.

A kid appeared at the end of the street, one foot on the base of a scooter and the other one on the floor, eyes fixed on Michael, and he wasted no time in getting off the street. Inside was just as broken as the outer had looked, the floor covered in rubble and the stone chipped. 

He took a risk laying down in the corner, behind an old row of pews. As he lay on his back he looked up through the crack in the roof that exposed the sky above. His stomach grumbled and he patted it gently, apologising to himself for not being better prepared. 

_Maybe if I just rest here for a while I’ll have some strength for tomorrow, I’m so tired._

He couldn’t remember drifting off into sleep, only that he woke up being pushed and shoved, his eyes snapping open as he felt his bag shift underneath him. 

A shadowy figure, features blotted out in the darkness of night, crouched over him. One hand was gripping Michael’s backpack while the other nudged the young mans body out of the way to manoeuvre it away. 

Michael jumped up, nearly headbutting the guy who was trying to steal his bag in the process, only partly relieved that he hadn’t. His hands immediately went to the strap of his bag, clutching the fabric tightly as he attempted to yank it away. Instead of being discouraged that his prey had woken up, the fight only seemed to spur the thief on more and he pulled back so hard that it sent Michael slamming, face first, onto the stone. 

He choked around rubble but kept his grip firm.

Sharp canines were bared, a snarl curling from the thin lips, and a flash of red that glowed from the dark made Michael freeze. The guy pressed forward and growled and Michael felt his hands leave the strap of his bag in fear. 

The thief’s lip curled up in a sneer and he gave a two finger salute before taking off out of the church with a booming laugh. 

Pulling himself up onto his hands and knees, Michael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A trail of blood smeared across the skin and Michael wondered if he’d bitten his tongue. It wasn’t like there had been much left in his bag, a few shirts and clean underwear along with deodorant and a toothbrush, but he’d emptied his wallet into the bag in a scramble through Michigan and all his spare cash - what little that had been - was now gone. 

His wallet sat heavy in his back pocket but what use was that now. 

He hung his head and let out a scream of frustration, thumping his fists hard onto the stone. Everything that could have gone wrong in Indiana was going wrong, why had he assumed that his biggest problem would come from the normal humans, when the real threat - apparently - lay within his own kind. 

Spitting out a mouthful of blood he saw it, on the floor, trampled into the dirt with matted fluff and a squashed face, was the tiny cat plush that Adam had given him. He figured it must have fallen out of the front in the struggle. 

He picked it up with shaking hands, adrenaline running high through his bloodstream was fading fast and leaving him with an unsteady foundation on which to stand. 

He thought about Adam. Barely a week had gone by since he’d been soaring down the highway with music blaring and the two of them singing. Laughing and joking while the distance disappeared in their wake. 

No. He couldn’t think about that now. Tucking the cat into his pocket he stood, the dawn was fast approaching and one more push would get him out of Indiana and back into safe zones.

He barely dipped into Illinois, straight across the bottom that took him just over a day. Regretfully he dug through the trash of a Wendy’s and came up with around half a cold, mushed up burger and a handful of soggy fries. It wasn’t much but it kept him going for the time being. No one offered him a ride in Illinois. He was forced to go it alone, with no bag, no contact with anyone, only a tiny cat in his pocket and the thought of his mate possibly being at the other end keeping him on his feet. 

Fuck, he hoped his mate was there. 

He tried not to think about it too much, even though the - very real - possibility that there would be nothing for him in Texas besides more violence and fear weighed heavy on the back of his mind. 

It rained from the moment Michel stepped into Missouri and kept pouring torrents of water onto his head until he reached the other side. Thunder rumbled violently over head and he was pretty sure that was the reason he managed to make it into the warm dry embrace of a strangers car instead of sloshing through rivers on the side of the street. 

Miles was funny. In a way he reminded Michael of Adam. Quick to become friends, he didn’t delve into the details of Michael’s situation, only took him as far as he could before dropping Michael off. Miles filled Michael up with burgers and fries, gave him a large bottle of water and told him to take care of himself. But not before letting Michael use his phone. 

On the phone with Lindsay he spared her the details of everything he owned going missing, being saved from walking into a death trap only to be robbed and attacked later that day. He told her that he was almost through Missouri, that he would be careful and promised to let her know the second he was out the other side. 

“I wish I’d come with you,” she mumbled, “I could have protected you.”

 _I wish you had too_ , he thought, but the words didn’t reach his lips. 

The rest of Missouri passed wetly, with the rain still thundering down, lightning flashing overhead and his shoes were more water than fabric at that point. He couldn’t complain, for he’d had a pretty easy go of it, getting from New Jersey all the way to Missouri with only a handful of issues. 

That was subjective, however, as he trudged the last few miles with the sky lightening above him into dusty blue and the rain finally let up. Subjective because he wasn’t quite there yet. He still had something to do. 

There in front of him was one last hurdle, the final push to Texas. 

Arkansas, one of the biggest patrolled states in the country. He could have picked another route, avoided it, but that would have taken him states out of his way since both Oklahoma and Mississippi had similar borders in effect. 

He had to do it. 

“It had to be fucking Texas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reaction to this has astounded me again! Thank you guys for the lovely reviews <3
> 
> and thank you to Brianna and Lacey for checking it over for me!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep, even more travelling, and another familiar face.

The border into Arkansas was marked out with a line of street lamps that glowed a bright, vibrant red. The borders weren’t new but they weren’t exactly an old idea either, they had been set up about five years ago. Tennessee was the first to start building up the split between them and the states next door, and soon everyone was following suit.

The border that Michael was now facing was tall and extravagant, with over a hundred guards patrolling the line of toll style booths. They were showboating, trying to impress the southern states, and intimidate everyone else, but they didn’t care. When they made a name for themselves that was known everywhere for striking nerves in the souls of wolves...it didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

Michael crouched down in the ditch and thought about his options. On the one hand he could try and sneak in, bypass the booths and find some sort of route in without being seen- but he was about as subtle as a bullhorn, he would definitely get caught. On the other hand could he dare trying to face it head on, literally walk straight up to a guard and get in? Did he have the kind of confidence for that?

His heart was pounding just from being close to them, that was a solid no.

One of the guards turned towards him and he ducked down, cursing himself for being so jumpy. The gun in the mans hand twitched, itching to be raised up and fired into the skull of a wolf. Right now he looked ten times guiltier than he would just waltzing up to the border. What kind of wolf would _actually_ do that?

Him. That’s who.

His wallet came out of his pocket as he shakily took a breath and faced the booths. His New Jersey ID slipped around in his sweaty palms while he joined one of the lines. There was a surprising amount of pedestrians considering, probably mainly commuters - people who would hop on the subway all the way to the other side and think nothing of it.

Minutes passed by as he edged forward, mentally preparing the answers to questions he thought they might ask. Person after person passed through the checks, to his left and right lines moved at a steady pace until he was face to face with a tall, dark haired man with aviator shades and a gun slung over his shoulder. Behind him a shorter, stumpier guy stood firmly, gun poised for attack.

Michael held out his ID and waited nervously as the officer inspected it.

“New Jersey? What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked conversationally, only glancing up at Michael for a second.

 

“J-just passing through,” Michael replied, cursing the shake in his voice, _get it together, Michael,_ “I have family in Phoenix,” he lied. The officer stared at him over his glasses before sliding them off his nose, and he tucked them into the collar of his shirt.

“Going all the way to Phoenix without so much as a bag?” he said doubtfully, giving the young man a once over with his eyes. Michael shuddered.

“I got mugged,” he replied as calmly as possible, it wasn’t exactly a lie. “I ran away from home, that’s why I’m heading to Phoenix.” It was a risk, going with that kind of story, it could easily turn around and bite him on the ass.

The officer nodded, seemingly accepting the response, “So you’re gonna get on the subway and head over to Oklahoma?”

Michael nodded, not trusting his voice since his heart seemed to be living in his throat.

A sneer played on the officers lips, “What’s got you so nervous, ay?” he pressed closer, inhaling deeply over Michael’s head and Michael had to hold in the whimper in favor of something stronger.

“Hard not to be with all these guns everywhere,” he answered coolly.

The officer scoffed, “You’re in the south now, son, get used to it.”

He gestured over his shoulder to the bald one with the gun, “You shouldn’t have to be nervous though,” he said with an edge to his voice which Michael certainly didn’t like, “if you have nothing to hide.”

Fuck.

A hand gripped his bicep, and the officer slid his glasses back onto his face.

“You’re coming with me,” he instructed, Michael’s eyes widened as he was dragged through the booth, past the line to his left and across the courtyard. Another officer quickly took this guys place, and chubby guy with the gun walked briskly along side.

“W-where are we going?” Michael whimpered as the grip on his arm tightened.

Their eyes met for a second and the man’s lips curled up, “Your ID doesn’t hold up, we’re just gonna run you through the system.”

He looked too excited at the prospect of catching one in the act.

_Don’t fight it, don’t look like a threat, just walk._

The security building was at the end of the courtyard, people lazily chilling in hard, plastic seating though they perked up as they saw Michael walk through the door. Their faces lit up with intrigue and officer ‘strong grip’ mumbled a few choice words before a click to the right indicated and unlocking door.

Michael stumbled and fell onto his knees in the middle of the empty room as the officer let him go with a firm shove.

He quickly scrambled to his feet and hit the door just as it slammed shut. His heart was racing, palms sweating, slippery against the solid metal. _Warded against wolves_ his mind supplied unhelpfully.

Three of the walls were the same, solid metal with shallow scratches adorning the steely coating. The fourth was solid black and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was a two way mirror.

The most disturbing thing, however, was the splatter of rusty brown across the farthest wall. It had been poorly cleaned up, smeared and crusted over, but Michael could tell what it came from. Blood. What the fuck had he gotten himself into.

He wasn’t sure how long passed before anyone came for him. He found himself sliding down the wall and staying there, eyes focused on the glass, knowing he had to rein in any fear he was feeling in an effort to look as nonchalant as possible.

The door clicked, opening slowly and Michael jumped to his feet. Instead of the officer, however, a scruffy looking boy came in, standing before Michael as the door closed again behind him.

He was scrawny, about Michael’s height but a lot thinner, unhealthy even. His face gaunt and shadowed with dark bruises. Hunched over with only a thin shirt and threadbare pants to cover him, he looked cold, and come to think of it there was an unnatural chill in the air.

“Well?” A voice boomed and both young men flinched.

The strangers attention flicked to the glass for a moment before he started to edge closer to Michael. They backed up at the same speed until Michael’s back hit the wall and he could move no further.

Something in the strangers eyes screamed apologies while he leaned forward and took a deep, long inhale through his nose.

 _He’s sniffing me_ , Michael thought and his heart stopped, _sniffer dogs._

He’d heard stories but that’s all they had ever been, _stories,_ of governments holding wolves hostage. Beating them into submission and using them as their own personal working dogs, it had only ever been an idea to Michael but it definitely seemed like reality to the stranger.

The second thought that passed through his mind was a complicated slew of curses and ‘oh my god I’m fucked,’ as he locked wide eyes with the sniffer. If the guy identified him now then it was all over, everything for nothing, his blood would be the next rusty stain on the wall.

The stranger was an Omega. The warm hazel glow in his eyes told Michael that, and going by the three in Indiana, he could smell every inch of wolf on Michaels skin.

“Hurry it up,” the voice snapped and the stranger flinched so hard his whole body shook and collided with Michael.

In a moment of desperation, Michael whispered against the strangers shoulder, “Please.”

The boy felt warm against him, his skin burning up a fever and the bruises had to be causing him pain. He looked strung out and scared and, just maybe, he’d be too out of it to really tell what Michael was.

“Is he or isn’t he, mutt.”

His heart thudded against his chest once, twice, and a third time until he felt it almost stop completely.

To Michael’s complete and utter surprise, the boy met his eyes once more - red rimmed and fuzzy - before stepping away and facing the wall.

Then he shook his head. In a firm, decisive _no._

“What?!” No speaker was necessary for the angered scream to be heard, through the glass it roared followed by distant sounds of door slamming before the door was wrenched open.

The boy shot Michael a fearful look, his dull eyes wide and for a second Michael was sure he was trying to say something. His lips moved but no words came out.

“ _No?_ ” the officer hissed, his face red with anger. “What do you mean no?”

He wasted no time in ripping the boy off his feet, flinging him to the floor so hard that there was an audible crack as his head hit the solid ground.

Michael pressed himself against the wall in fear while the ring of a sharp _slap!_ filled the metal cell. The boy cowered, curling into a ball with speed like it was built into his muscle memory.

Michael watched guiltily, he wanted to step in - this was his fault after all, the kid had lied for him - but the sight of the handgun securely strapped a holster at the officer’s waist pulled him up short. No, he would not give the officer an excuse to shoot him now, after everything.

Eventually, the boy was left on the ground, abandoned by the wall, whimpering like a wounded animal - and the officer turned his attention back to Michael.

He was mumbling nonsense as he took hold of Michael’s arm once more, his fingers fitting perfectly over the sore skin from before that he knew would be bruised underneath the fabric of his jacket. He hissed under his breath in frustrated tones, leading Michael past the boy and out into the hall. The wolf didn’t meet his eyes, too focused on curling up around himself to protect his body from pain.

“You really thought you had one this time, didn’t you Ralph,” laughed the lady behind the reception desk. She scrawled something onto a sheet of paper, dropped it into a file to the side of her and passed Michael’s ID back over the desk into Ralph’s waiting hand.

He sneered, “Ha ha ha, fuck you Mary,” the grip on Michael’s arm tightened. “Go suck a dick.”

“That’s what your wife said last night,” Mary barked with a loud laugh.

Ralph growled and took his anger out on Michael as he dragged him on shaking legs out of the building and out into the courtyard. Across from them the lines kept moving, unaware - or uncaring - of what went on in the guard station. 

He was tossed roughly to the ground, skidding a little on the loose concrete rubble which scratched deep into the skin of his palm.

His ID landed beside him and he picked it up carefully, holding it tight against his scraped up palms.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Ralph hissed, kicking at the dirt. “Fucking enjoy Phoenix.”

As he span around to leave, and Michael scrambled to his feet to do the same, they both jumped at the solid crack of a gunshot that echoed through the air. Someone screamed, Michael’s eyes widened, and a lean figure in all black broke the border, running full tilt for the transport lanes.

“I’ve got myself an Alpha!” A voice called out joyfully, a manic laugh trailing after the words.

An officer, young from what Michael could see, probably a rookie, took off past Ralph, past Michael. He had his gun held high and fired once, twice, the third shot hitting the fleeing Alpha who went down with an echoing thud and the sound of shifting gravel. It was all over in a second.

The officer cheered, voice carrying on the wind as he fell to his knees to check on his prey. Michael shuddered. Could have been him.

“I suggest you go.”

Michael whipped around and saw Ralph staring over his shoulder, jaw set, and gaze steely.

He didn’t need to be told twice and he was hurrying past the body on the ground, blood pooling all around in a disgusting puddle. The transport stop was just up ahead. A line of buses ready to take passengers to the nearest town and subways station.

There were people with their faces pressed against the glass, gawking at the spectacle like they were at the zoo. Like they were enjoying it - they very well could be.

He slipped into one of the end vehicles just as the doors closed, it was packed to the limit, people crushed together like sardines in a can. Huddling into the crowd, Michael let out a long, slow breath of relief and bit back the nervous sob that threatened to leave his tight throat.

\---

Subway stations sprung up all in one go, one minute there was a couple across the whole country, the next they were under every state, passing through a couple of main routes all leading to the Capitals.

The subway in New Jersey was small and not really very busy, but they were a small state, and the inhabitants weren’t exactly the kind to exchange their own comfort for speed. Which was why the subway station in the drop off town took Michael to a whole new level of surprise.

After almost 45 minutes crammed into the tight, compact space of the bus, there was much relief from everyone as they spilled out onto the street. The air drawn into Michaels lungs was thick and heavy like a storm was coming, or one had just passed. He prayed it was the latter but the ground beneath his feet was bone dry, so he didn't hold out much hope on his luck.

Like sheep they traipsed down to the subway, all huddled together as they said goodbye to the sky and ambled into the harsh, neon light of the station. New Jersey's outlying station was a dark, dingy place, with graffiti marring the rusty walls in strokes of bright paint. You'd often find the homeless sleeping in a corner, no matter the time of day, wrapped up in whatever they could find against the cold that swept through the tunnels.

This station, on the other hand, was pristine. Gleaming metal from one side to the next, not a hint of graffiti or rust. Even the ground he walked on was shining, reflecting the light back up to the ceiling and if he stood in one particular spot, the light would blind him.

A shove from behind forced him forwards, colliding with the people in front but they were too busy colliding with the ones in front of _them_ to notice. The whole group culminated at the edge of the track, pressed tightly against a glass wall - which was clearly there to stop the masses from throwing each other in front of the trains - pressing forwards like they had somewhere else to move. Never mind the people back here, he felt sorry for the ones up there.

It was a frenzy when the train rumbled into the station. People climbing over each other to get on as the glass doors slid open - and really that _had_ to be reinforced - and piles of people tumbled into the carriages.

There were six in total and Michael found himself being forced to the very end one. Before he could put a hand on the door, however, he was being yanked back and thrown into the crowd by large, forceful hands. He staggered back before surging forward again with the force of the crowd.

“Hey!” A voice called out, annoyed.

Michael couldn’t see who yelled but he saw a large body fall beside him, knocking people to the ground like bowling pins.

“Wait your turn, asshole,” a hand twisted into the collar of his shirt and he was being pulled forward, strong grip flinging him into the carriage and he landed against the central pole with an _oof!_

The space between him and the door filled up quickly, pushing him more tightly against the pole but it soon let up once the doors were closed and the passengers settled into more comfortable positions through the carriage.

Michael waited to relax before addressing whoever had helped him into the train. The neck of his shirt remained crumpled, keeping the shape of the strangers grip and he finally glanced up to find that they were looking right back at him. Well, just over his head.

The stranger was a woman. Slightly taller than he was she had an intimidating air about her; the hood of her black military jacket and the way she held her head concealed most of her face, but the red of her eyes shone in the light.

She shushed quietly as he opened his mouth, reaching into one of the many pockets of her coat she drew out a small bottle of water and subtly pressed it into his hands.

Without hesitation he grasped it, licking his chapped lips as he raised it to his lips, immediately starting to drink down the thirst quenching liquid greedily until the woman placed a hand on the base of the bottle and nudged it down.

"Try not to drink like you’re dying," she mumbled under her breath, still refusing to look at him.

A strand of white-blonde hair fell down over her face and she raised a hand to tuck it behind her ear, revealing a heavily tattooed - and quite weathered looking - hand.

Drinking more slowly this time, he let the rest of the water empty into this throat, keeping his eyes locked with the woman’s left shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said, passing the bottle back between them. As he passed his tongue over his lips again he was pleased to feel a soothing relief now that his mouth wasn’t bone dry.

The train turned, lights whizzing by the window in quick succession as they hurtled through the tunnel at break neck speed. Everyone staggered, shoulders and backs bouncing off each other until a more solid footing could be acquired. As Michael staggered, however, he found himself steadied by the woman’s hands planted firmly on his shoulders.

She didn’t release him, only moving her hands down his arms to his elbows and holding firmly as the train ride continued.

Stop after stop the train began to empty, a handful of people jumped on at each stop but nothing close to the number of passengers that had hopped on at the first station. Eventually there was enough room to step back, but both of the Wolves stayed close.

After a while, Michael started to feel like there was something wrong. The woman had been completely silent, hair falling back in front of her face but she had made no move to tuck it away again; her red eyes shifted uncomfortably, narrowing before closing all of a sudden.

“We need to get off in Little Rock.”

Michael furrowed his brow in confusion. No, he was taking it the whole way, it would be stupid to get off halfway when he was securely on his way out of the State.

Seeing his hesitation she murmured, “We’re being watched,” he made to follow her eyeline and she grasped his forearm, squeezing harshly. “Don’t be an idiot, just- just wait until the train stops, let everyone off and on, jump off before the doors close.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat.

In the miles between there and Little Rock Michael felt like the whole train could sense the tension. He still had no idea where the threat was, _who_ the threat was. He didn’t even know why he would be a target - okay maybe he did have some sort of inkling - but he was pretty sure he was about to be dragged into this woman’s business, and he couldn’t even begin to understand why.

_Next Stop Little Rock_

The light illuminated on the board at the end of the carriage.

“You ready?” the words were spoken slowly, carefully and despite himself, Michael found himself nodding.

“Good.”

The train rumbled into the station.

Passengers departed, some hopped through the door, passing the two of them further into the carriage.

The woman’s hand remained on his forearm. Waiting.

Waiting.

The door started to close.

“Now,” she hissed and Michael was yanked forwards before he could organise his thoughts around her voice.

The door clipped his arms on the way out, pinching the skin of his elbow and it took a harsh tug to get loose. His jacket tore.

Someone yelled, something about morons and putting people in danger but they barely heard it, already taking off across the platform and towards the stairs leading into the city.

The city was bustling, pedestrians passing by with the clicking of heels and the sounds of many people on many cell phones. The place felt a lot like the Cities Michael visited when he was younger.

He felt the first drizzle of rain against his skin and an NYC cab yellow streetcar passed on their right.

The woman grabbed his arm.

The streets of Little Rock were a maze, made worse because Michael had no idea where they were going, and by the look of the furrowed brow of his sudden companion, neither did she.

“You’re an Alpha,” Michael wheezed, slightly out of breath from the fast paced walking. Her legs were longer than his and he’d been almost running to keep up.

“Yes,” she replied briskly, thankfully slowing her pace once she saw how much Michael was lagging.

“How did you get in?”

“Same way you did,” she shrugged. After a pause and with a smirk she added, “But I’m a better liar.”

Michael blushed.

“You had a lucky escape,” she said sincerely, “I saw you go in from the street, thought you weren’t gonna come back out.”

“Did you see that guy get shot?” Michael asked curiously.

“No, and neither did you,” there was a hesitation in her voice that made Michael shiver. “He was an idiot, he deserved it.”

Michael’s eyes widened, “You knew him?” he was only guessing but she nodded once, sharply.

“Wish I hadn’t, he could have easily got us all killed back there.” Michael nodded but paused.

“Us?”

The look he received in response shut his mouth so fast his teeth cracked together.

“My name’s Michael,” he said, quickly jumping away from the subject.

The woman glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “What is it with stowaways and wanting to exchange details?" she laughed.

Michael huffed indignantly. “You just kidnapped me off a train, I think I deserve a name.”

She relented with a laugh, breathy and short. "It’s Griffon."

"Like the bird?"

"Like the mythical creature," she corrected with a smile, and Michael tilted his head and she rolled her eyes. "Half griffin half lion?"

“Never heard of it,” he admitted.

Griffon elbowed him in the ribs, firmly but not viciously, “The youth of today, you’re an embarrassment.”

“I apologise for my entire generation,” Michael said with mock sincerity, surprised just how easily he had fallen into step with her.

She didn’t reply, just kept walking, occasionally pointing to a street sign before heading down that street, Michael following behind like an obedient puppy. Maybe his genes really _were_ starting to come through, because he was much too comfortable following her orders.

After a while, curiosity got the better of him and he stopped short, hands in his pockets as he tried not to meet Griffon’s eye.

“So, someone was watching us,” he ventured carefully.

She rolled her eyes again and gestured to a gap in the wall, pushing through with him following as they ducked into a compact space with no way to go but back out. It wasn’t too small, enough for both of them to slide down the wall and sit on the ground, a sprinkling of rain water soaked into the base of his jeans. Rain pattered above, but the buildings towering over them met roofs, acting like a giant umbrella.

“Technically they were watching me, got on after the second stop,” she explained. Michael’s eyes narrowed.

“So why did you take me with you? I could have been halfway out by now,” he hissed angrily, his temper rising.

“ _Calm down_ ,” She instructed and he found his body responding accordingly. “They would have thought we were together, I was holding you up to stop you from falling remember?”

He sighed, “Who were they? Cops?”

“Alpha’s,” she growled. “They’ve got a good scent mask on them but I could see through it.”

“I’ve been in this game a while,” she added.

Michael frowned, “How do you know they would have tried anything? If we’d stayed on the train I mean.”

Griffon shrugged and said, “I didn’t, not really.” Michael frowned again and she held up a hand to stop his fighting. “But city Alpha’s are territorial, especially ones in places like this.”

Groaning, Michael dropped his head into his hands, “I just wanted to get through Arkansas without grief,” he mourned.

She scoffed, “So did I, Michael.”

“Yeah well maybe you should’ve.”

Michael’s head snapped up at the sound of a new voice, coming from the other side of the wall. Through the gap he saw movement, only for a second before a clawed hand found purchase on his neck and dragged him painfully from the space. Griffon took hold of his hand but her efforts to stop him being taken only ended with the assailants claws gripping tighter, cutting into the skin of his neck.

He was flung to the ground and Griffon came out willingly, already growling a string of curses at the four men crouching into fighting stance in the street.

To Michael’s surprise, the street was empty.

Three went after Griffon, all Michael heard was a throaty growl as they attacked because his attention was elsewear. Namely on the first Alpha, who lifted him from the ground with ease unparalleled, immediately shoving him harshly against the wall, his head cracking painfully against the brick. 

“This is our city,” the Alpha growled, hood dropping revealing his face.

Thick brow bones framed his bright, red eyes; cheekbones high and straining against tanned skin. Coarse black hair followed the contours of his face and dark lips were twisted into a snarl around obnoxiously large fangs. Michael could see his hunched shoulder straining against the size of his jacket, the muscles bulging beneath.

“I was just- just passing- th-through!” Michael choked, dazed from the crack of his head and unable to breath right around the hand on his throat.

The wolf scoffed. “Sure you were,” another slam cracked Michael’s head back once again. “You know I’m fucking sick and tired,” his knee rammed up into Michael’s rib cage and he exhaled sharply as the air was forced from his lungs, “of Alpha’s trying to weasel their way into our land,” he dropped Michael to the ground.

With the world spinning in a sickening circle around him, Michael couldn’t move. Only felt both sets of claws tear into his shoulders and fling him backwards. He skidded painfully.

“We fight to live here, we fight everyday to _survive_ ,” he emphasised his words by tangling his hand into Michaels hair and yanking, _hard_.

Through the dizzying blackness, through the fog of pain, Michael felt a surge of strength. Flinging his arm out it caught the guy in the face, sending him staggering in surprise and giving him enough room to shuffle backwards.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Griffon. She was grappling with the three other wolves, making it seem effortless as she moved. Then again, she was one of them. Michael was vulnerable.

His arm came up to protect himself once again as the Alpha surged forwards, snarling and snapping like a rabid animal but Michael’s arm rammed straight between his teeth and the Alpha clamped down.

Michael screamed. A high pitched whine that was full of pain as the sharp fangs pierced the fabric of his jacket easy, tearing through it to reach skin. Shaking his arm, trying to dislodge the man, he bucked up with his hips, knocking the wolf off kilter but his teeth remained inside Michael’s arm.

Over his head Michael saw movement, blurred and fast the wolf on top of him jolted, jaw unlocking and something lifted him off. He flopped to the side like a ragdoll and Michael looked up to see Griffon, blood seeping down her face, breathing heavy, but alive and fully transformed with blood dripping from her long claws.

Rising up onto his elbows his attention flicked to the Alpha, blood pooling beneath his head from three deep, bloody gouges across the back of his head. 

“Come on, they won’t be down long,” Griffon growled, voice rough but firm. She helped him to his feet and he immediately whimpered, cradling his injured arm to his chest.

The wound burned like fire.

Griffon allowed him to sway unsteadily for only a second before hauling him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry and took off at a speed only an Alpha could manage with bleeding wounds and chest heaving with exhaustion.

Through blurry vision Michael looked behind, three Alpha’s laid out on the ground all bleeding, all down for the count.

He couldn’t think about the shame, the heartache over being so helpless and weak, because his arm was throbbing, his _head_ was throbbing, and his adrenaline was fast leaving him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know it’s quite unfeasible that there would be a subway running all the way under the state but this story also has werewolves so I think creative license is in play here. :)
> 
> Come blab at me on my [Tumblr](http://www.glackedandmullered.tumblr.com/ask) I'd love to hear from you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus we move on to the next arch within the story! This one ended up a lot longer just to get over this part of the plot so enjoy!

He wasn’t sure how long he was under the spell of the adrenaline drop, but when he jolted back to awareness the sky had darkened dramatically.

His whole body ached like it was made up of one giant bruise, jostling painfully with every step Griffon took. It took a few seconds to realize he was no longer slung over her shoulder, instead pressed to her back, arms dangling down over her chest and strong hands were holding his legs by her waist. Dusted light fur tickled his face and thick muscles supported his chest. 

“You back with me?” she asked, feeling his faster breath against her neck.

Michael nodded dumbly, feeling the haze drift over his eyes again.

“Good, dazed you pretty hard didn’t he,” she commented.

They rounded a corner and Griffon sighed with relief. The main city was behind them now, before them stretched the edge of the river; a bridge, towering and long silhouetted against the dimming sun.

The woman apologised as she lowered him to the ground, supporting his weight on her shoulders as his feet hit the ground. After being carried for God only knew how long, his legs acted uselessly, dropping him before he could gain a solid footing.

Griffon had shifted back almost immediately after putting him down. Her shoulders shrinking and hair brushing away with a swipe of her hand. For the first time he saw her without the hood.

One side of her head had been completely shaved, only the smallest growth of dark blonde starting to grow out; the darker growth carried on through the other side which was longer, like she'd been out of range of a good hairstylist for a while. Michael felt like it gave her more edge, a bit rougher and if he'd seen her in the street, he probably would have steered well clear.

Her skin was dry and worn with the glint of a septum piercing above her lip.

He stopped staring long enough to look down at himself.

There was a dense circle of blood staining the front of his shirt and one glance in front of him told him where it was coming from before he could panic that he was more hurt than he thought.

A slash, long and jagged had been torn into the back of Griffon’s jacket and it didn’t take him much time to figure out that she was hurt underneath it.

She caught him staring and turned around, her back to the wall.

Griffon peeled off her jacket, cursing under her breath, “I loved that jacket,” she mourned as she tossed it aside. Underneath she had nothing more than a plain black tee, loose fitting and hanging off her slender body.

Michael gawked, both arms were covered in ink just like her hands. Intricate designs decorated the skin, twisting and turning and disappearing under the capped sleeves of her shirt. They were beautiful.

“Thanks,” Griffon chuckled and Michael blushed, realizing he had said that out loud.

“Sorry,” he said meekly but Griffon waved him off with a smile.

“I like the attention.”

She moved her arm to her back, one hand feeling around for the wound and she swore as her hand came back red.

“Assholes, I thought I’d come out clean.” She sighed, “There goes my spotless track record."

Before Michael could say anything, she stripped off the shirt too and he turned away to save her modesty.

His face flushed further as he realised she was laughing breathily.

"You're cute."

In an attempt to cut any future embarrassment short, Michael moved slightly further down river. Griffon was still in sight, buy more in shadow as he lowered himself gingerly to the floor and shucked off his own jacket, wincing with a pained whine with the brush of fabric against the bite.

He'd never been bitten properly. A few play bites from his brother left a few waxy imprints on his skin but they were tiny, his bites like baby's teething.

This bite was a serious wound, black in the centre of each tooth mark, the skin was mangled where he had clamped his jaws. The blood had slightly congealed by now, but removing his jacket had dislodged the clots, allowing the rich red to dribble over his skin.

His shirt came off next, exposing his chest to the wind chill in favor of using the screwed up fabric to staunch the flow of fresh blood. He barely acknowledged the smattering of bruises across his chest and didn’t even register the ones marring his back.

He hunched over, shoulder shaking as the shirt came into contact with tender skin, shifting loose flaps that tugged and tore as he pressed harder, letting out a whimper.

“Those look better,” he jumped, pressing harder in surprise and hissed at the extra pressure. He hadn’t even heard Griffon approach.

“Fuck! Griffon, warn me won’t you?”

She snorted, “You’re like a little deer.” She said dropping to her butt beside him, legs stretched close to the water. “I thought you could do with some help.”

“With what?” He asked haughtily, “I can cope with a bite.”

“Maybe the blood dripping down your back from _this_.” Michael yelped in pain, her fingers digging into the base of his skull and causing a sharp stab of agony to shoot down his spine.

“Fuck!,” He swore, scrabbling away from her searching hands. His hand hit water, his shirt falling amongst the ripples. He groaned, wringing it out in this hands, “Great, now it’s bloody _and_ wet!”

“Hang it over a rock,” Griffon suggested, “it’ll be dry by morning.”

Michael paused in shaking out the shirt, “Wait, morning? We’re staying here overnight?”

Griffon nodded, dumping a shoulder bag on the ground. “There’s no point in trying to navigate the city at night, we can’t leave until the Subway opens again anyway,” she reasoned.

She pulled a shirt from the bag - dark in color and decorated with some sort of faded band logo - and made quick work of tearing it down the middle and then into a handful of strips.

“Your bruises seem to be healing fast but that bite might take more time, better strap it up.” She explained as she shuffled forward to the shore and dunked one of the strips into the water.

It took a few seconds for Michael’s brain to catch up, “Bruises?”

Griffon didn’t even look, grasping his forearm and examining the bite with careful hands.

One hand snaked to his back and pressed hard. A surprised grunt left Michael’s throat at the shooting ache that accompanied the touch, “These,” Griffon said. “I took a look at them while you were out, they were pretty much black- but they’re healing fine, think sickly green and yellow. The ones on your chest are kind of the same.”

True to her word when he looked down Michael saw the mottled light colours with only the lightest hint of darkness in the centre. They striped down his chest, stopping before his hips.

He couldn’t have been out long enough for them to heal on their own that fast. It was impossible unless-

His thoughts cut off like the flick of a light switch as Griffon put pressure on the bite with the damp strip. Dabbing and wiping until all of the blood had been cleaned off and only the congealed stuff remained inside the wound, he endured the stinging pain from her thorough cleaning.

“I don’t have any anti-bac or stuff like that so river water’s gonna have to do until it starts to heal properly.” She’s looking down as she says it, already starting to wrap the bite in the left over strips of shirt. It’s tight, not enough to cut circulation, but enough for Michael to feel every pulse of his own blood through the veins. “I imagine it’ll be gone by morning, maybe next.”

Michael didn’t feel like telling her it would take a lot longer than that; but the bruises had faded in only a handful of hours, so maybe she’d be right.

“It’ll be fine,” he shrugged, “thanks for sacrificing your shirt.”

She scoffed and checked the ties in the fabric once more, the tips of her fingers coming back bloody where the tiny spots of blood had seeped through in places, “It was U2, I think I’ll live,” she drawled.

Her lips twitched up into a smile and Michael took back his arm, testing the bandage.

“Turn around,” Griffon prompted, already shuffling into a better position. “Let me take a look at that head of yours.”

He obliged albeit nervously, the spot was still throbbing from her rough treatment earlier, but it seemed she intended to be a little gentler this time.

“He did a number on you,” she murmured as she worked, tilting his head down to use the last of the light to see the wound through his hair. She promptly gave up and rummaged in her bag until her fingers closed around a stubby flashlight which immediately went between her teeth, shining a beam of light to the side of the wound.

“Ouch,” she hissed in sympathy, parting the hair to get a better feel of the wound.

“How bad is it?” Michael asked nervously. He had to grit his teeth and fix his muscles to stop himself from leaping away from her probing fingers. They dug deep into his scalp, searching and sending sharp lances of pain through his skull.

Something cold dripped down his back and a pressure either side of the wound made him wince, “Not too deep,” she said as she worked at cleaning it, “and head wounds bleed heavily anyway so that was to be expected,” she paused and Michael felt a but coming.

“But-” _there it was_ “you’ve got some dirt and grit in here that I’m gonna have to get out before it heals over.” The apologetic tone and the sudden hesitation in her hands sent shivers down his spine.

He set his jaw and took a deep breath before answering, “Got any tweezers?”

Griffon sighed with a smile, “Good boy,” she praised before Michael heard her rummaging in her bag. After a minute she let out a triumphant _Aha!_ and a glint of light shot a reflection onto the water.

He tried not to think about it after that. Tried to ignore the feeling of Griffon’s tweezer digging into the back of his head and the blood that ran rivers down his shivering spine. Every piece of grit she removed she would toss into the water beside them, the tiny _plop!_ sound keeping Michael focused as well as the minute ripples that danced and swayed for a second or two before fading back to stillness.

Every twenty seconds or so she would swipe the damp piece of fabric over the skin, dabbing and squeezing before setting back to work. Michael felt queasy after the first five minutes, trying to force his stomach to settle and his head to focus on something else. Like Texas.

Texas with its wide open spaces and miles between each house in the back country. He remembered the sign - the one from his drug induced haze - with it’s huge red letters on the torn paper. Austin.

Really that was the only reason he had made the decision to go. Anywhere else in Texas and it would have been a solid **No** because finding his mate, sorting his life out, hell even _presenting_ wasn’t worth living somewhere that he would have to live his life being careful and cautious.

He’d seen it on the news when it happened. When Austin declared independence from the State laws, when they said no to the wolf massacres and hunting. It hadn’t been a huge shock really, they had always been the most Liberal of cities but that kind of move...it was unheard of.

At least he’d have a chance in Austin.

“All done,” Griffon announced, climbing to her feet behind him.

He hadn’t noticed her finish and automatically reached back to touch it only to be slapped on the wrist before he could.

“Don’t touch it!” Griffon scolded, tutting while kneeling beside the water to rinse off the tweezers. Tiny tendrils of red bled into the water before vanishing. “I don’t have anything to cover it, so it’s still kind of open, but at least it’s clean.”

Michael nodded, pulling his hand back and allowing it to play with the makeshift bandage on his arm instead.

Griffon settled back and dropped the - now relatively clean - tweezers back into her bottomless pit of a back, her hand coming back grasping a wad of black fabric.

“This was the moron’s,” Griffon offered, chucking the shirt into Michael’s lap. “He had shit taste but you need something until yours dries.”

Michael thanked her silently and pulled the shirt over his head, being careful of the wound at the base. Barely a second later there was a pair of jeans in his lap too.

“Might as well try those for size, you’re scrawnier than he was, but those things are ratty as fuck.” She pointed to his own jeans, torn and tattered and, yeah maybe, they looked a little worse for wear.

She barked out laughter as he stood to find a corner to hide around to change. 

“Fuck off!” He yelled back, walking a little bit faster.

\---

The flavor of the protein bar was rotten on his tongue. He’d never been a fan of the things, but they were everything Griffon had left until she could get to a store so it was that or nothing.

Speaking of Griffon, the woman lay asleep beside him, curled up with her head resting on her bag and her hood pulled up to cushion the lumpy vessel. Michael had opted for second watch - no one had even come close yet but they’d both agreed it was for the best - since he was still wide awake after resting for the walk but Griffon hadn’t stopped yet.

She moved a lot in her sleep, tossing and turning, dislodging the dirt from the ground and grinding it into her clothes but she wasn’t making noise, so Michael figured it was okay to leave her be.

He polished off the bar, folding the wrapper neatly and tucking it into his pocket, and pulled his knees to his chest.

There was some wind chill, not too bad and the wall behind them blocked off a lot of the breeze, but he could still feel it. The moron’s jeans were - as Griffon had predicted - too big, hanging off his hips like a fashion statement but a convenient length of fisherman's rope that he’d drug out of the dirt was helping them stay up nice enough. Even if he hadn’t had that, the pants were whole, no rips or tears and they were keeping his legs warm so they were a damn sight better than his own pair.

The smell of the stranger invaded his nostrils as he tucked his head down. It was musty and damp, but he guessed that was more the condition of the shirt than any indication of the man who had worn it before.

The city had long since gone silent. It was hard to think that the place could be as feared as it was, with the lit up buildings and glowing bright signs. It was a beautiful silhouette against the night sky and, if he hadn’t been a wolf, he’d probably happily live there.

If he wasn’t a wolf.

It wasn’t that long ago that he was considering the very real possibility that he wouldn’t be one. Yet the last few hours had told him that, just maybe it was possible after all.

First he’d be sniffed out. Twice. Maybe even three times he didn’t know, but either way he’d been identified by scent alone. Then he had to think about the healing bruises.

Not long after Griffon had fallen asleep, Michael had crawled to the very edge of the water, peering precariously over the edge to get a glimpse of his reflection in the water. He had bruises on his neck - thick and shaped exactly like a handprint - but the marks were just like his chest, faded almost to nothing despite how dark they must have once been.

He could barely feel them as he ran his fingers over them, staring out over the water.

Beside him Griffon moaned.

He glanced down at her, watching her stretch and yawn - her lips pulling taut over gum, exposing the sharp teeth - before she opened her eyes.

“Morning sleepyhead,” he commented, taking the sour glare with a pinch of salt.

“Ugh, your turn.” She smacked her lips and sat up, pulling her hood down in the process. She still looked tired, but another couple of hours probably wouldn’t have helped.

Michael crossed his arms, rested his chin on his knees and shook his head, “Too late now, it isn’t worth it for a couple of hours.”

Griffon cocked her head, “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” Michael replied with a shrug, “but it’s already getting light so it must be around five?”

Growling as she leaned over, Griffon dug her hands through her bag, pulling back grasping half of a wristwatch; one side of the strap was totally missing and the face was cracked, but the hands continued to tick away inside.

“Five thirty,” she informed him with a sigh. “Goddamnit Michael, why didn’t you wake me earlier, you were supposed to take second watch not all night.”

Michael shrugged again, picking at the makeshift bandage through the tear in his sleeve. The bite still ached but not as bad as it had the night before - he wasn’t looking forward to removing the bandage though. “You looked like you could use the sleep more than I could.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” she noted sharply.

“Whatever,” Michael mumbled, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet like a child.

She narrowed her eyes at him, arching her back as he pulled herself to stand. She started towards him and just for a second MIchael thought she might hit him, but instead she spun him around, hands immediately going to the cut on the back of his head.

He ducked out of the way, escaping her searching fingers and nearly falling over in the process.

“Stop assaulting my head, woman!” he barked, clapping his hand over the tender spot to protect it while he stumbled over the rocky ground.

Griffon’s laughter cut off abruptly, leaving the trace of an echo behind. Michael looked up in panic, heart beating fast against his ribs with the possibility of something happening after such a long night - but Griffon was just staring at him. Her lips curled up, she looked at him with the semblance of something akin to fondness and Michael shifted from foot to foot under the gaze.

“What?” he questioned uncomfortably.

Griffon shook herself, “Nothing,” she smiled and turned to pick her bag up from the ground. “You just remind me of someone I knew, that’s all.”

Michael blinked, “Oh.”

Without a word he suddenly found himself wrapped in her embrace. She pressed his head to rest on her shoulder and wrapped the other around his back. It was a strong hold, firm and comforting and he could feel the muscles in her back rippling under his hands as he held her back as tightly as he could.

He’d never been a huggy person, more content to a handshake or a high five but that was the way he had been raised, he could learn to really like hugs.

After a minute in her embrace, Michael whispered, “Was it the guy who got himself killed?”

Griffon shuddered with laughter and pulled away, a grin beaming on her face, “No, someone much more idiotic,” she laughed, dissipating the last of the moment by patting Michael’s shoulder. He found himself missing the touch.

“We might as well leave now,” she said, sliding the zipper up her jacket she swung the bag over her shoulder. Leaning down she pulled Michael - still slightly damp - shirt from the rock and tossed it to him, "Get on the first Subway and get the fuck out of here.”

\---

At not even six in the morning there were very few cars on the road, very few people on the streets, very few lights on in the towering apartment blocks and businesses.

It made for a much easier path through the city to the Subway station at the other end.

Michael walked with his hands in his pockets, breathing frigid air with Griffon drifting in a delicate zigzag along beside him. She was smiling, content to the slow pace.

“Which train?” Griffon asked as they approached the station, the archway to the stairs looming in the distance.

Michael glanced at her and thought about it, mentally picturing the map he’d studied weeks ago before he’d even left New Jersey, “One that goes south?” he replied uncertainly.

Griffon laughed, “You sure?”

“Which one goes towards Texas?”

Her laughter stopped short, “Texas?” she let out a low whistle, “Good luck with that.”

Michael snorted, “Yeah I know, believe me I wish it was somewhere else.”

Griffon studied him, slowing down to match his stride, “City?”

“Austin.”

“At least you chose a good one.”

“So I’ve heard,” Michael replied, “I’ve never actually been.”

She offered no reply further than, “I spent some time there once, it’s alright.”

They started down the steps to the station. The place was silent, only the odd person milling around awaiting the first train of the day.

“What made you decide to navigate all of this place for Texas?” She asked, sliding down one of the back walls to sit on the ground. The waiting passengers gave her strange looks, raised eyebrows and upturned noses.

He opened his mouth to reply, the truth playing on his tongue but it wouldn’t quite reach the air.

“Just a travelling experience," he lied easily, shrugging off the question in favor of joining Griffon on the floor.

"A travelling experience," she repeated doubtfully, "in Texas."

Michael nodded and hummed an affirmation, folding and unfolding his arms distractedly.

"Whatever man, I'm not your mother," she relented, giving up on her attempt at eye contact which Michael didn't return. "You can take your death wish any way you like."

Jumping on the chance to change the subject Michael grinned, "What about you, you haven't told me where you're heading."

She shifted slightly, examining the inked skin of her hands, "I wasn't intending to," she replied dismissively.

Michael huffed, "I thought we had a good thing going here," he mumbled, looking away as he picked at a layer of loose brickwork under foot. "You know since I let you sleep all night and kept watch so no one would get-"

"Guilt tripping won't work, Mikey," she interrupted. No one had called him Mikey since third grade. "I got you off the train, all the way through the city with you half passed out on my back _and_ fixed up your wounds so they wouldn't get infected."

She fixed him with a pointed look and Michael half heartedly glared back, beaten at his own game.

Her eyes softened, “Florida,” she informed him and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Florida? As in way _way_ the other direction Florida?” He asked, making a directional gesture with his hands towards one of the walls which was _clearly_ the wrong way entirely. “Like straight through every danger state Florida?”

Griffon tutted and took his hands, shifting them until they were pointing towards one of the far walls, “Yes, yes that Florida,” she replied distractedly. “And they’re only _danger_ states if you don’t know how to handle yourself,” she added, twitching two fingers in air quotation marks. “Someone like me? I do fine.”

“I wouldn’t,” Michael replied sourly.

“You wouldn’t last another day with me,” Griffon agreed. Michael tried to look offended but they were both right.

The time ticked over to six fourteen and a telltale rumbling started up down the tunnel. Griffon stood and Michael followed, keeping their backs to the station wall as the platform filled up in a matter of seconds. Griffon’s hand entwined with his as six fifteen rolled around and the doors opened, the near enough empty carriages suddenly bustling with activity.

They took the back corner, between the doors on the other side and the row of seats that spanned the length of the carriage.

“It only goes as far as Arkadelphia,” Griffon said in a low voice, the doors closed and the train set into motion. “Just stay quiet until then.”

Michael nodded, sticking to her instruction immediately.

\---

The early morning train was eerily quiet, Griffon had been right to tell him not to talk, though he didn't feel the need to say anything anyway.

Beside him a man sat with a newspaper hiding half of his face, taking up the seat next to him with a large, brown leather briefcase. The only activity they experienced along the whole journey was an elderly lady screeching profanities at the man because he wouldn't move his case for her. No one came to the woman's rescue and she stood for the rest of the journey staring at him with a sour expression. He didn't even look up.

Most of the passengers exited the train by the time they reached a stop before the end. Apart from a scruffy looking girl with long tatty dreadlocks scraped together at the back of her head and a smartly dressed woman with a kid kicking his legs under the seat, they were alone.

 **END OF THE LINE** read the neon sign and they pulled into the final station with a sudden jolt.

Since no one could get on at this end, the platform was empty, all of the activity was on the other side where the train would return back to the corner of the state which Michael had entered on.

Griffon dragged him towards the exit, her grip slightly unsteady.

"After you leave here, it’s about a days walk to Texarkana, just-" she paused, running a hand through Michael’s hair affectionately.

"Just don’t stop, okay? Texas is no walk in the park either."

“I won't,” he heard himself promising, “thanks, Griffon, it was really good meeting you."

She nodded briskly, smiling. "You too, Michael. I can't remember the last time I had company that I could actually enjoy."

Unsure of what else to do he held out his hand, “So… Florida.”

She beamed, nodded, and took his hand, shaking it firmly once she said, “Texas.”

Seconds later they were parting. The ground rumbled with the impending arrival of a new train and Michael stared at Griffons back as she approached the crowd on the opposite platform.

 

As a last thought he cried out after her, “Be careful!”

He could just see her spin around, open arms almost clipping other passengers on the head and replied, “I’m always careful!”

In the blink of an eye she had vanished into the crowd and Michael was alone again.

\---

True to Griffons word the walk from point to point was a day, well just over 26 hours. No hitchhiking on the highway, no kind stranger to help him on his way, just him and his own thoughts from sunset to sunset.

Though the sun beat down on his head relentlessly the whole way, it did nothing to alleviate the winter chill and he was glad for the extra layer that the dead strangers shirt supplied him with. His own shirt was still kind of damp against his skin, uncomfortable but warm enough that he didn't care.

There was no border into Texas, much to Michael's surprise. At least not a visible one. It took less than five minutes to see that it might not be as easy as walking straight through.

Cops were milling around _everywhere_. Cops with dogs, cops with dogs and _guns_ , whether taser or lethal bullets he was too far to see clearly but he could even identify a few plain clothed officers sitting in the doorway of a Starbucks.

Other than cops the city was pretty quiet from the first street. Though he had passed through a number of housing estates before ending up in the main city, even they had been quiet. Quaint and normal.

One foot in front of the other was a mantra that kept him going through a handful of streets.

\---

Maybe it was his rapid heartbeat or his sweaty palms, maybe it was the way he was walking, or maybe it was his - apparently fast developing - smell; maybe he wouldn’t know what it was that caused every cop in the vicinity to turn to look at him with steel eyes, but suddenly he was running.

Some pedestrians moved out of his way as he barrelled down the sidewalk, some faced his wrath and thudded to the ground with angry curses while he carried on his destructive path away from the ones chasing him.

To his knowledge they could have been a block away, they could have been right behind him, breathing down his neck, he wasn’t about to look around to find out.

His breath came out in pants as he tried to regulate his breathing but he found out quite quickly that he wasn’t wearing out as fast as he thought he would. Michael definitely wasn’t an athletic man by any means, one to wear out running to a class he was late to, or ducking out of gym class way before everyone else - though maybe that had more to do with laziness - but his muscles weren’t even waning slightly with every leaping step through the streets.

Direction meant nothing to him once he’d traveled down the tenth - eleventh? - street with footsteps following close behind.

 _You can’t run forever,_ his brain supplied, _sooner or later you’re gonna have to stop_

 _Until then I keep moving,_ he fought, stumbling over a loose slab of paving while dodging a group of girls on a street corner.

 _They know these streets better than you,_ he brushed off his own reminder even though seconds later it was clarified for him.

A cop, at the end of the street he was currently on, jumped out from behind the wall and seemed to struggle into the solid stance with gun held in both hands, muzzle pointing directly at Michael. With his eyes wide as a deer in headlights he looked just as shocked and unsure as Michael, but that was all he needed to spot an opening to his left and made quick work of darting between the walls.

A second. That’s all he had to make his decision.

A manhole, the cover already slightly lifted from the ground and Michael leapt for it, ripping it from the ground with strength he didn’t know he possessed.

Inside was a ladder, the rungs were rusty against his skin but he took it anyway, pulling the cover back over as a last second thought.

He was plunged into darkness.

He began to descend.

The ladder was surprisingly long and he hung around about halfway - or where he would assume was halfway - waiting for any indication that he had been caught. But overhead thudded with footsteps for a few seconds, no more, before echoing into silence and Michael let out the breath he was holding in a choked cough.

The next question came with a thud of his heart. Should he wait down here, head back up and hope they’d moved on, or did he drop?

He lowered his foot down to the next rung only to find there wasn't one. He'd reached the end of the ladder, and the fact that he could stretch his leg out completely without touching ground told him he there was at least a 4 foot drop to follow.

Not bad at all, but it could easily be more.

There wasn't enough light to identify any sort of ground beneath him and, if it was a considerably longer drop than four feet then he could end up seriously injured in a sewer. Great.

And what if it wasn’t a sewer? It could be a trap, a deep hole in the ground that ended a hundred feet below the surface. He shook his head, “This isn’t a goddamn spy movie,” he murmured to himself.

His decision was made for him only seconds later by the sound of voices overhead. He was glad he'd replaced the cover before heading down but now if he returned to the surface, he'd have to face whoever was up there, and he couldn’t stay camped out on the ladder forever.

"Fuck it," he hissed to himself and lowered down the ladder until he was hanging from the last rung, body suspended in the darkness. Over six feet and still not touching the ground.

Another voice joined the first few and Michael let go.

He dropped for a few nerve wracking seconds before landing. Directly into deep, freezing cold water.

He twisted and turned for a handful of seconds before his body righted itself and he broke the surface.

Spluttering as he kicked his feet to stay afloat he was immediately assaulted with the foulest stench he had ever had the misfortune to encounter. He heaved, feeling bile rise in his throat from the disgusting smell that flooded his nostrils and wrapped his lungs in a thick fog of the vile odor. It was something between rotten food and the thick fecal smell that only erupted after consuming the spiciest of foods.

It was most definitely a sewer.

The water was too deep for his feet to touch the floor and swimming coherently when there wasn’t even enough light to see his hands moving was more than difficult. He felt his face dip under the water and spluttered around the slimy texture.

In the back of his head he could feel himself panicking, his neurons shooting sparks to every nerve in his body telling him to get out, get away, _don’t breathe._

But not breathing was causing his lungs to seize up, he could feel his muscles contracting as his chest tried to expand but couldn’t stretch with Michael holding back.

His arm was throbbing where the bite was being exposed to the rotten water and the pressure of holding his breath caused his head to pound, pain blossoming just behind his eyes and at the base of his skull.

As he swished his hands around in the water searching for and edge or sidewall or anything, he felt exhaustion fast approaching. It didn’t help that the only food he had consumed in the last 48 hours had been the protein bar he’d choked down on the river edge, and he hadn’t wet his lips with water in just as long until now, and no way he wanted this in his stomach.

“Calm down,” he instructed with a breathy hiss, “ _calm the fuck down Michael_.”

He breathed slower.

The taste of rotten water danced on his tongue and he swallowed down the bile that rose up his throat.

The relief flowed through his whole body as his hand grabbed a ledge, fingers scrabbling desperately for purchase on what felt like rough brick. Managing to heave himself up over the edge he felt the blessed expanse of space which would easily fit his whole body.

Something brushed his foot and adrenaline took over exhaustion as he rocketed out of the water and flopped into a choking, spluttering mess on the brick surface.

Crawling to his knees, his soaking clothes gripping his skin in a disgustingly uncomfortable manner, he heaved again, quickly clapping his hand over his mouth to keep the vile substance inside. ALthough it did nothing but induce another heave and he heard, rather than saw, the splattering of vomit hit the brick as it streamed from his mouth.

He still had a way to go in the sewer it seemed, and the smell would continue to follow him but what little had been in his stomach was now on the ground before him and he took a large step to avoid it, noting with further relief that the walkway seemed to continue.

\---

It was slow going, with one hand running down the wall and every step made carefully in case the pathway suddenly ended. But, finally after what felt like a whole day of walking, he saw a literal light at the end of the tunnel, streaming out of a grated gap.

His sigh of relief echoed down the tunnel, bouncing off the walls and returning to his own ears. He tried not to look to the side as the water became illuminated enough for Michael to identify the brown, sludgey liquid that he had been wading through before.

As the light got closer, the color in the tunnel started to even out and he had to squint through a rusty coloured film while his eyes adjusted to the light. Thinking past the stench just for a moment, he was abruptly struck with the realisation that what was covering him from head to toe was… he vomited again.

Fresh air - sweet, fresh, unpolluted air - greeted him as he pushed himself between the grate bars at the end of the tunnel, for once grateful for his slender body type. Pure, lush greenery stretched out before him and he trudged through a thick layer of clumpy, wet mud before his feet hit clean grass and he could have fallen out of relief.

His lungs expanded with a clean breath, granted a glorious respite from the stench wafting into his nostrils from his clothes and skin.

He could have cried.

\---

There was a mile or two of hiking across the bright landscape, with rays of sunlight beating scorching heat down onto his shoulders, before he hit a large body of water. Not quite a lake, nor a pond, just an expanse of clear, cool water that was just deep enough for Michael to dunk him whole body as he dove in without hesitation. He’d stripped off his clothes before hitting the water, though they had been hit with the splash. He’d be dunking them too anyway.

The sewage had dried to his skin creating a thick layer of smeared green-brown that scrubbed off with the rough treatment Michael gave it. The water around him was quickly polluted by the vile substance, but the waves dragged it out towards the centre and, as Michael’s skin became visible once more, he was left in clean, clear water once again.

His hair took a little scrubbing and he desperately wished he had some sort of wash to clean it properly, but the crusty edges soon softened out and started to dry in the sun before he could even leave the water.

He left his clothes to soak on the edge and stalked into the distance to the other side. Barely being able to resist Michael took a mouthful of liquid and swirled it around over his tongue, around his teeth, and gargled it in his throat. Though it left him with a slightly refreshed mouth, the taste of bile and sewage lingered on his palette, churning his empty stomach.

After a thorough scrub, Michael left his clothes to dry on the grassy verge, laying down beside them, hands tucked under his head as he stared up at the sky. It must have been early afternoon or sometime close by the position of the sun and he still had to find a road or at the very least a sign that could tell him where the fuck he was, but for now he was content to rest his sore body in the heat of Texas.

He was seconds from drifting off, lulled into sleep by the warmth of the sun and exhaustion tugging at his body, when he caught a scent in the air.

Like the burning embers of a dwindling log fire in the woods. It was strong and musty, enveloping all of his senses. It filled Michael’s nostrils and overwhelmed him and he sat up, for a moment entirely convinced the water had been an illusion and he was actually in the centre of some sort of burning structure.

No. Definitely not an illusion.

Craning his neck he looked around in confusion, eyes searching the landscape for whatever that smell was coming from. All around remained pure and green, clear skies framed the sun, the horizon at all sides was clean and straight cut, no smoke breaking the air.

Yet the scent remained.

Though it was thick and cloying as a scent, he felt no burning in his nose, no trouble in his lungs or throat. Just the smell.

A second longer and it passed. Replaced by the clean air once again, Michael’s mind raced. His palms were sweating, head pounding like a jackhammer against his ribs and he felt panic clawing at his chest.

He stood, shaking legs barely holding him as he gathered his clothes and shakily pulled them on, barely noticing the cold dampness lingering in the fabric.

Then he realised why his heart was about to burst, why his head felt heavy and lost.

Because he had smelled it before. Just once. Before leaving for Texas, before everything, in the drug induced dream that led him here.

His mate.

\---

The moisture slowly evaporated from his clothes while he walked. The heat was stifling, draining, sapping every drop of energy he had left, not to mention he could feel his skin starting to blister and split without the aid of sunscreen.

He’d never been more grateful to see a town as he was when the first silhouettes appeared in the distance. Towering and tall on the landscape he reached the shade before the town and, although it was still hot as hell, he took the shaded reprieve with a blissful heart.

Unfortunately he couldn’t stick around long, he was getting heavy looks from the town dwellers, side eyes and looks of apprehension as the people shied their bodies away from him. He had no money so he couldn’t even grab a bottle of water or anything.

His arm gave a throb, sharp and urgent. He couldn’t bring himself to peel back the makeshift bandage, it had been a couple of days and the shirt strips remained tight around the bite wound. The clean water of the lake had done nothing to remove the mossy thick layer of grime that had soaked through the fabric, he didn’t even dare to think what the wound looked like beneath.

He’d take a peek at the bruises in his reflection in the water back there. They’d mostly healed, receding back to pale - if slightly pinked - skin in the time he had been walking. But the wound on the back of his head continued to seep slim rivers of blood whenever he touched it, accidentally dislodging the crust over the top.

\---

He barely recalled the walk from that town to Austin. It must have been smooth because his switched off mind wasn’t interrupted once.

He could have walked for a day, a few days, or a week he wasn’t sure, but he only knew that once he left the trance state, he was worn out to hell, dizzy, and weak.

The sign appeared quickly, shooting up in front of him before he could recognise the path he was walking on.

Big, bold, letters with thick, red outlines on a peeling paper surface. The sign he had seen in the haze, Austin, he was there.

The smell was back a second later, back in his senses, stronger than ever. But this time it wasn’t alone, there was something else mixed in, something he couldn't quite describe; sweet and...sour at the same time, heavy but light and it sent him reeling as he followed his nose down street after street.

He was just about to drop when he hit a metaphorical wall in the middle of a street. Like a jolt that pulled him up short and overtook his limbs, making him turn. The scent was so strong now that it was making him dizzy.

Before him was a house. In the middle of nowhere practically, he hadn’t even noticed he’d left the main housing center, surrounded by trees all neatly trimmed and fencing that looked rickety and worn out, green paint peeling from the wood. The house was a classic two story with sloping slate roofs across the brick walls, white trimmed windows and lower windowsills with empty pots cracked but standing steady. A rose bush sat just left of the door, bright, beautiful, red petals shimmering in the light.

Without noticing as he stared, the scent of mate faded, slowly until it was all but gone and he knew.

This was his house.

\---

Over the course of the next few hours hidden in a sharp leaved bush he learned four things.

One, his arm was killing him. Every second threw a wave of agony through the limb and he was one hundred percent positive that there was a strong infection festering beneath the skin, if the heat surrounding the area and the fever he could feel told him anything.

Two, not a single inhabitant of the house was at home during the day. He waited and waited and, when a car finally pulled up in the driveway, it was only then that lights flicked on and the house burst to life.

In that respect came number three, there wasn’t just one. Five men stepped out of the car when early evening rolled around, five very individual men in heights and style. Michael couldn’t see properly from his hidden position but it looked like three slightly older and two younger, though ages he couldn’t even hazard a guess.

His sense of smell kicked in the second the doors opened though it seemed confused. The log fire scent laid a foundation but on top the sweet but sour, thick but thin aroma piled atop it almost masking it completely leaving Michael with a heavy head and it wasn’t just the fever making him feel flushed.

Number four, four was the most important of all. More than the fever and infection, more than the knowledge that he was facing way more than just his mate. Number four was the realisation that they knew - they knew he was there.

He only figured it out once the light had completely drained from the sky, once twinkling stars overlapped the dark of the night with glistening dots like fireflies. 

Once all the lights had extinguished in the house so he knew it must be pretty late, only then did he take his eyes away from the building and allow himself to reflect upon the last few weeks.

It had been exhausting, terrifying...enlightening, but everything had culminated in this one moment sat outside of a strangers house while his senses went wild. Should he go up to the door? Should he just dive right in and say "Hey I'm your mate, how's it going?"

He wasn't even sure which one it was. Five of them... goddamnit, it couldn't have been easy after all this?

Regardless of whatever plan his dehydrated and addled mind was conjuring, the universe has other ideas.

The hand that tugged him to his feet by the scruff of his neck was harsh and unforgiving, yanking him with ridiculous strength which would have easily thrown him back to the floor the other way of not for the arm that wound itself around his waist.

The hand on his neck shifted, covering his mouth before he could breathe out more than a surprised gasp. Pressed against the warm, firm body he could do little more than suck in fearful inhales through his nose.

A voice, deep and heavily accented whispered heavily into his ear.

"Hello, love."


	5. Chapter 5

It barely took a second for the hands to loosen and his 'captor' hacked painfully, still holding on to Michael but clearly turning his face away, "You reek, Christ you really stink!" 

If he’d had any energy left in him, Michael would have tried to tear himself away from the guy, used the distraction to his advantage. Unfortunately he was dizzy and weak with fever, his limbs not cooperating and every muscle and bone - hell even his hair follicles - ached, making his struggling pitiful and useless. 

His captor laughed "Hey calm down mate," he said, even though he'd never heard one before, the English lilt was easy to identify. 

He narrowed his eyes as annoyance cut through the fear, this guy - whoever he was - was mocking him. 

With a huff Michael let one of the long fingers over his mouth in between his teeth and clamped down hard. It worked like a charm and the hands left his body as the guy leapt backwards. 

“Did you just- you just bloody _bit_ me!” He yelped, shaking out the hand with shock on his face, Michael spun around quickly, head spinning, and got a good look at him. 

He barely recognised him, but the outline of his body in the low light flashed Michael’s thoughts back to the five in the car, this guy was one of them. Scrawny, tall, and goofy looking with a nose the size of the eiffel tower on his face. Dusty blonde hair, scruffily styled and sticking up in every direction like a birds nest sat atop his head, his sideburns linking into a scruff of beard that looked a day away from becoming too much.

He flashed a set of sharp fangs as he turned, shouting across the front yard, “Geoff he bloody bit me!”

There was another guy - this Geoff person - stalking over from the house, his face set into a soft frown. His messy handlebar moustache blew one way with the wind and a wave of familiar scent washed over Michael almost sending him to the ground. 

Geoff rolled his eyes and scowled, “Of course he fucking bit you, Gavin! I told you to approach him carefully, not fucking abduct him.”

“I’m an Alpha now,” The young one - Gavin - declared proudly, puffing out his chest. “I can do whatever the fuck I like.”

Geoff scoffed, "Yeah, and whatever deity thought you were a good candidate for alpha genes was a moron," he reached Gavin and gave him a firm shove to the shoulder, "sit down." 

Gavin did so albeit grumpily, grumbling to himself as he lowered himself into a submissive crouch. Michael walked backwards in a daze, a hint of metal danced on his tastebuds but he didn’t know if he’d broken Gavin’s skin or if the blood was coming from somewhere inside his own body. 

Geoff sniffed the air once, cringing and eyes narrowing at Michael as he shuffled back, almost tripping over the roots of the tree he had used for cover. His senses were going haywire, his head full of an indescribable fog of mismatched aromas, his weak muscles working overtime to keep him standing. Even though he was potentially in the presence of his mate, the fight or flight instinct inside him wasn’t about to settle down. 

_Alpha, Michael. Fight. That’s what an Alpha does._

He brushed off the devil on his shoulder and felt his head bow without his consent as Geoff stepped close enough to touch him. He didn’t. Instead choosing to stay that respectful distance that allowed Michael to keep breathing. 

"You're human?" Geoff asked after a moment, voice hard. 

Michael shook his head, his reply coming out as nothing more than a whisper, "Unpresented." 

The relief was clear as every inch of the mans body seemed to relax and he cracked a smile, "Oh thank god- wait, how old are you?" He added with one eyebrow raised. 

Michael ducked his head, shrugging a little in embarrassment when he answered, "Twenty one." 

Geoff let out a whistle, "Ouch, that's some bad luck right there," he said. He had crows feet in the skin by his eyes, crinkling as he smiled. 

The corners of Michaels lips twitched up as he replied, "Tell me about it." 

He felt comfortable. It took a minute to realize it, but it was there underneath his skin, a heavy sense of comfort and...safety. Even as Geoff took an extra step towards him, their chests almost touching, there were no instincts telling him to do anything but relax in the presence of the man. 

Underneath the scent of spice and liquor lingered smoky ash. 

"You smell like mate," Geoff said after a long moment, his face was suddenly stern -Alpha-like - intrigue coloring his voice.

Michael nodded, even though the motion made him dizzy, "So do you." _but not just you_ he almost said, but the words were caught in his throat. 

"I can only smell shit," Gavin whined, crawling towards the pair, nose screwed up while he tried not to breathe in the stink from Michaels skin. 

"And this is why he bit you, because you're an asshole, _sit down_." This time, instead of obeying the order, the younger man stood up tall and stomped his foot into the ground like a child with a temper and stalked off towards the house, nose held high in the air.

“Fucking child,” Geoff grumbled fondly, watching the younger man march across the grass clumsily before turning his attention back to Michael. 

“I didn’t think you- are you okay?” He cut himself off with a concerned frown, hands hovering close to Michael’s arms but still not touching as if he could hold the young man up with the power of his mind. 

Michael’s eyebrows knit together, his head cocking to the side in confusion before a strange feeling washed over him. He hadn’t even noticed that he was swaying, wavering from side to side dizzily before his mate but now that he was focused on it he couldn’t see how he was still standing. 

The fever warmth radiating from his skin made him sleepy, head pounding, and his wound throbbed with every second that passed, sending spikes of pain through the limb.

Geoff’s face swam in and out of focus as he weakly mumbled, “Uh, I don’t- I dunno.” Man, even to his own ears he sounded pathetic. 

The last thing he recalled before descending into darkness was the irreplaceable spark as Geoff’s hands came into contact with his arms, a strong grip that made his skin feel like it was singing and made passing out in the arms of a stranger a hell of a lot easier. 

\---

His eyes snapped open to the sound of a door slamming. 

Met with a white ceiling he didn’t recognise and the blurred outline of a room he had never seen, his immediate thought was something along the lines of ‘am I dead?’ or ‘am I dying?’ He was cradled by a softness he hadn’t felt since leaving New Jersey, the smell of clean sheets wafting up his nose as silky smooth fabric brushed against his skin. 

On instinct he shot his hand out to the side, grateful when, after a moment of brushing against smooth wood, his fingers closed around the familiar shape of his glasses. They sat on his nose slightly crooked, but mainly intact. 

Even with the lenses aiding his vision, he couldn’t pick out anything that he recognised in the room. It was barely lit, possibly late afternoon if the glow through the bay window was anything to go by, walls alight with fire. The furniture was sparse, just an old cabinet in one corner and a chair with a whole closet worth of clothes piled up in a surprisingly neat manner. 

He winced as he moved to shift the covers, intending to leave the bed, and looked down at his arm.

Someone had tended to it. A crisp white, first-aid kit grade bandage replaced the mouldy rags that had once been wrapped around his forearm, neatly finished with a strip of medi-tape and sure as hell didn’t feel as rotten as the shirt strips Griffon had used. Even the tug and pull of skin when he moved didn’t feel like burning, more like stretching a healing scar. 

The pieces fell into place at the same time as his bare feet hit the cold floor and he gasped. 

_His mate._

He’d met him- _them_ \- he knew their names, he knew their faces. 

This was their house. It wasn’t as easy to see from this angle, but he knew the tree that he could see from the window was the one he had hidden behind, with leaves rustling in the breeze as the sun set to the side, the shadow cast darkened as far as he could see. 

The hallway was silent as he felt his way along the walls, walking in somewhat of a daze, but downstairs was booming with voices. Arguments, one voice trying to outdo the other and Michael wondered how he hadn’t heard them from the bedroom let alone the hallway. 

“I’m _trying,_ Geoff,” one voice began just as Michael was enough within earshot to distinguish the words. “I can’t do everything at once, you asshole!”

The stairs led into a very small hallway which branched off into three rooms, two sat hidden behind closed doors, the third was wide open but only the back of one man’s head was visible from Michael’s position. He perched himself on the edge of one of the top steps and waited, arms crossed over his knees. 

"Just fucking- fucking do your job-”

“What’s that behind-”

“GAVIN! That was me you moron!”

Michael jumped as the voice cried out, sharp and gritty. Whoever was sat in the chair with his back to the door leapt up with a graceless jump. A thud, a squawking scream and laughter, and something plastic came skidding across the hardwood towards the stairs. 

“Good going Gav!” Gavin - who he recognised from earlier - limped around the doorway, rubbing his thigh and whining dramatically. 

Michael’s eyes widened as the young man leaned down by the bottom of the stairs, mumbling nonsense and clicking the battery pack into the back of the controller in his hand. He held his breath, unsure. 

Gavin thumped the back, satisfied with the minute click; looking up again he caught the eye of the boy on the stairs. He was sat there with his knees drawn tight and his arms holding them to his chest, eyes wide and his skin still held the dark smudges of dirt that stained his skin when they found him.

“Oh,” he began dumbly before a wide grin spread over his face. “Good morning!”

Michael could practically see the cogs turning in Gavin’s mind as he thought about it, “Well, not morning, it’s pretty late evening actually but since you just woke up I’ll call it morning-”

“You grabbed me.” Michael interrupted sharply. Gavin rolled his eyes and flexed his hand by his side. 

“Yeah and I got a nose full of rotten shit and teeth marks in my hand for it!” He laughed, “Come down here.”

He held out a hand, one foot poised on the bottom step as he leaned towards Michael; Michael who promptly raised his eyebrow as if to say ‘yeah _that’s_ going to happen,’ and tightened his folded arms across his chest, sitting a little taller now.

The blond opened his mouth to reply but it was another voice that cut in as someone new slid around the corner, “Gavin do you want to take any long- hello.”

He was young. Probably younger than Gavin, with dark hair and dark eyes hidden behind thick glasses. A dusting of facial hair decorated his chin and upper lip but he looked a lot tidier than the blond man whose hand was still extended out towards Michael. 

“Hi.” Michael replied. Gavin withdrew his hand with a sigh.

The young man looked him up and down, appraising him, “You look terrible," he concluded seriously. 

Michael swallowed hard before saying dryly, "Gee thanks, you're a bit of a mess yourself," he gestured to the dudes wrinkled shirt and too messy to be casual hairstyle. 

The new guy grinned, "I like him." 

“I’ll like him a lot more when he showers and we can disinfect the bed,” Gavin grumbled sourly in response. 

Without breaking eye contact, he called out, “Geoff, he’s awake!” And suddenly more feet pattered across the floor as three more people appeared in the hallway. 

Kind of glad he was still at the top of the stairs, with an upper ground to take in the group that outnumbered him dangerously, he immediately recognised one but not the others. 

Geoff, the man he had met last night, stood before him in boxer shorts and a baggy shirt, a dopey grin on his lips, “Finally,” he breathed, “we were concerned for a while there.” 

Michael frowned, “How long was I…?” he made a vague gesture in the air. 

“Nearly three days,” one of the others - a buff guy with a gentle quaff of blonde hair and thin frames resting on his nose - replied gently, “Pretty nasty infection you had there.” 

“Don’t worry, Ryan fixed you up,” Geoff informed him, gesturing to the blonde who had spoken, “Just refrain from going pond diving in gross water for a while and you’ll be fine.”

“It was a sewer,” Michael replied mindlessly. 

It was infinitely comical to see five grown men raise their eyebrows and drop their mouths open in unison.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he clarified, “I could have done without the violent puking.”

Gavin turned away and gagged - whether mocking him or not, Michael couldn’t tell - but the last man scratched his thick beard and rolled his eyes as he patted the lads thin back and shushed him comfortingly. 

Ryan took a step forward, one foot touching the base of the stairs but not getting any closer, “Speaking of violent puking, come sit with us and have something to eat.”

Gavin gagged again mumbling “Do you have to keep saying violent-violent puking.” 

The bearded one ruffled his hair while Ryan continued as if uninterrupted, “You must be starving.”

As if waiting for it’s cue, Michael’s stomach answered for him, growling loud enough for everyone to hear. Michael blushed and patted it firmly, like that would do anything for him. After sparsely eating for the last three weeks, he’d learned to ignore the pangs of hunger, but he could smell something sweet and his body was reacting to it. 

With a sigh he stood up, gripping the stair rail as he edged his way down nervously towards them. Thankfully they parted before he reached them, only Geoff taking the lead as he herded Michael through the open door. 

A video game was paused on the screen, the picture split into four with three paused and one black and white with the word ‘Continue?’ blaring across that portion of the screen. The floor was strewn with pizza boxes, pillows, and blankets. 

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Gavin commented from somewhere behind him, “That means we get the bed back.” 

The sound of a slap on the skull echoed. “Ow! I’m serious! If I had to spend one more night on the floor I think my spine would have fallen out of my back.” The Brit moaned. 

“Ignore him.” Geoff said dismissively, ignoring the indignant squawk that followed. 

Through an archway that led on from the living room was a small alcove of a room with a dining table set for six in the center. Geoff pulled out one of the seats and he sat down, immediately resting his elbows on the table like he always had - no matter how much it frustrated his mother - regarding the others as they settled in around him. 

“There’s apple pie but that’s all I’m afraid,” The bearded man apologised, strolling back through the living room and coming back a minute later with a pie on a large platter. Michael’s stomach grumbled again and he laughed awkwardly. 

“Anything is fine, thanks.” 

He received a curt nod before a slab of pie was dumped on his plate. The size of it was enough for breakfast, lunch, and dinner but no way was Michael about to complain and he tucked into the dessert like his life depended on it. 

“I’m Jack, by the way.” The man said as he dished out the rest of the - significantly smaller - portions. “Ray, Ryan, and you met Geoff and Gavin last night.”

They nodded in turn, smiles on their lips. Michael choked on the mouthful he had been chewing on, everything had felt so instinctual he hadn’t even noticed that half of them were nameless to him and that none of them even knew his name.

“Michael,” he would have smiled if his mouth hadn’t been full of food, and settled instead for a small - and quite frankly pathetic - salute. 

They were satisfied at least, “It’s nice to meet you, Michael,” Ryan smiled. 

 

“So where did you travel from?” Geoff asked conversationally, picking bits of pastry out of his teeth with a long nail. 

“New Jersey,” Michael replied with a shrug as he scraped up the last crumbs from the plate onto his fork with the aid of a little sauce and licked the utensil clean. He wasn’t even close to being full by the time the plate was clean but he wasn’t about to ask for more. 

“That’s a long way,” Jack commented, “Did you fly?” 

Shaking his head, Michael picked at the edges of his bandage, “Bit of hitch hiking, some local kindness, a lot of long treks.” 

“Through sewers,” Gavin interjected. 

Michael shot him a look, “That was only to get into Texas, I didn’t want to but it was either that or get caught by the cops and I had enough of that in Arkansas.” 

“You went through Arkansas?” Ryan asked, sounding impressed, “Bit of an adventurer are you?”

“Not usually,” Michael replied quietly. 

Tension bled into the air, resting heavy on Michael’s shoulders until Ray cut across it.

“Well I don’t care how you got here, I’m just happy that I’m not the only Omega around here anymore.” 

Michael blinked at him, his heartbeat picking up in his chest, “Uh-”

“He’s unpresented Ray, I told you that,” Geoff said pointedly, almost like a warning. 

“I know...just thought I’d-”

“I’m not an Omega,” Michael interrupted sharply, pushing his plate away from his hands so he could plant them firmly on the table, “I’m not.”

He was an Alpha, just an Alpha who hadn’t presented yet. An Alpha waiting to burst out. His family had been Alpha’s, his friends - all Alpha’s. 

“Alright, chill I just-”

Alpha. 

Without letting him finish, Michael cut across him again, “Hey! I’m _not_ an Omega.” 

Ray stood quickly, his chair flying back with a deafening crash and the room descended into silence so quickly Michael was afraid he’d lost his hearing. 

“OKAY! We get it! You’re not a fucking Omega,” Ray spat, his fists clenched at his side, lips curled in a snarl. “You don’t have to sound so fucking offended at the idea!”

He kicked the chair as he left, sending it flying into the living room. It crashed into the hardwood coffee table, pizza boxes and gaming controllers tumbling to the floor. 

Heavy footsteps on the stairs and a slamming door sent the room back into shocked silence. 

“Maybe you could go take that shower now,” Geoff said icily as Ryan pushed away from the table to follow after Ray. 

_Great, you’ve barely been here five minutes and you’ve already pissed them off. Good job, Michael._

“Sure,” he replied simply. 

“Upstairs, door opposite the bedroom,” Gavin said as he stabbed his fork into the left over apple pie, “towels are in there, toiletries too.”

As an added thought, once Michael had stood up and shuffled towards the door, he said, “Use as much as you need.” 

Michael nodded. 

\---

The door to the bedroom was closed as he arrived upstairs, and there was angry muffled speaking going on behind it. He briefly considered knocking, trying to make peace and hovered near the door, hand close to the handle but not quite touching. 

“I wouldn’t,” A voice said from behind him. 

Spinning on his heel, Michael came face to face with Jack. 

He stammered, “I wasn’t-”

“Let him cool off. He’ll clear his head after a little rant,” Jack assured, guiding Michael by the arm away from the bedroom and through the door to the bathroom. 

“I just wanted to take a look at your arm before you go scrubbing it with soap,” he explained, gesturing to the toilet seat briefly, waiting patiently for Michael to snap out of it and sit down. 

The bathroom wasn’t so big, clean white with a counter along one wall and a mirror that reflected the entirety of the rest of the space back at him. It was a short five steps to the toilet on the back wall and he planted himself down and let Jack take his arm. 

“Ryan reckons this was infected before you got all grossed up with...that,” Jack said, gesturing to the general state of Michael’s skin. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

“Alpha’s in Little Rock,” Michael replied while Jack unwrapped the bandages with gentle hands. “I met someone there, another Alpha, I guess they thought we were trying to encroach on their territory.” 

Jack didn’t comment, instead working away the bits of gauze that had stuck to the wound. 

Michael winced as it came away, “In hindsight I guess I shouldn’t have used my arm as a shield.”

Jack hummed in thought, “Better your arm than your face.” 

Letting out a breathy laugh Michael smiled, “You aren’t wrong.” 

Deciding not to look down until Jack had finished, Michael chose instead to focus on the top of Jack’s head. He had thin hair, smooth and sleek across his scalp and his glasses were drooping down his nose while he concentrated. 

“Are you Geoff’s mate?” Michael blurted, unsure of where the question had come from, he didn’t get time to stuff it back into his throat. 

Jack glanced up briefly, peering at him over the top of his glasses, “Yep,” he replied simply, looking back down at the wound. 

“Does that mean-” Michael cleared his throat, “Does that make you my mate too?”

Jack smiled softly, patting him on the knee as he let the arm drop, “This looks okay for now,” he said in lieu of an answer, “be careful not to scrub it but I shouldn’t need to wrap it again.” 

“Jack…” 

“You really do smell bad, dude, the stuff on the top shelf is the strongest.” 

The door opened enough for him to slip out and then Michael was alone again. 

\---

Man he had missed hot, running water. 

He had missed it so much he almost felt himself welling up as he opened the faucet and let the steady stream of water pour down to the shower floor. Not wanting to make a mess he had screwed up his filthy clothes and dumped them in the corner behind the toilet before staring in through the steaming glass doors to the waterfall beyond it. 

His glasses sat folded neatly on the counter, his reflection blurred as he ducked under the water and sighed in wonderful relief as the water cascaded over him. 

Despite his dip in the lake, the mucky brown grime that washed from his skin was thick and took more than just water to wash away. 

_Strong stuff on the top shelf._

He grabbed one of the bottles from the top, having a selection of colors to choose from. He went for red. 

A strong strawberry scent wafted up his nose as he flipped the cap up and squirted a generous blob into his hand. Unlike the fancy stuff Michael was used to, it didn’t lather up very quickly, staying slimy against his skin until he grabbed a loofa from a hook on the wall and started to scrub. 

The grime came off in layers, fading from sludgy brown to one more akin to a light dust layer before going clear altogether. Swapping hands, he prepared to wash his arm before pulling up short as soap ran over the bite. 

Without his glasses, the thick wound was blurred until he pulled it up close to his eyes; and when he did, he swallowed down vomit. 

It had clearly been deeply infected, the ghosts of risen veins were faint against his skin and the teeth marks were mostly imperceptible in the mess of healing. He could see where Ryan had obviously had to cut into the wound to clear the worst of it and had to swallow hard again to stop himself from whimpering at the implication. 

“People love a good battle scar,” he told himself morosely before starting to gently wash around it. 

It wasn’t a particularly painless process but it definitely didn’t hurt as much as when the wound had been fresh, and if he could present before it healed completely he might get away with a less severe scar. 

\---

It happened as he was washing his hair, the soap lathered up in his hands and scrubbing away the crusted dirt and grime that the lake water had done nothing to shift. In less than five seconds he went from mindlessly running his fingers through his hair to choking back gasping sobs as his chest caved into nothing. 

Suddenly he felt like a little kid. Like an abandoned child in a supermarket or a baby animal left to fend for itself in the wild. He felt lost and cold even with the steaming hot water pouring over his back, chills shooting down his spine like lightening. 

All the stress, anger, and fear from the last three weeks - hell, even before the moment he left - all tumbled down on him at once. He'd found a mate, multiple mates, but at what cost? He'd nearly died more than once, unintentionally fasted until his stomach was barren and dry as a desert, and all for what? All to piss off the people he was supposed to feel immediately safe with after barely an hour in their presence. 

If Lindsay was there she would have hit him on the side of the head and told him to woman up because he was an alpha and alphas didn't cry in a strangers shower while muddy water flowed down their face. 

Alpha

He shouldn't have spoken to Ray like that. Ray didn't know him, didn't understand his history and how important being an alpha was to him and his family. He didn't know that anything short of the strongest alpha meant he couldn't go home. 

If he was even going to go home - he didn't know at this point - could he even call it that anymore?

A knock, three knocks actually in rapid succession startled Michael out of his head. 

"Uh, you alright in there?" He couldn't tell whose voice it was, not used to their speech patterns or vocal tones but it sure as hell wasn't Gavin. 

He swallowed back the lump in his throat and pressed his forehead to the damp tile, trying to rein in the overwhelming emotions before responding, "Fine, just- really filthy, you know?" 

There was a pause from the other side of the door and Michael waited, breathing heavily against the wall. 

"I know you're crying." 

It was said so softly that Michael didn't realise he had spoken at first, but it struck a chord deep inside the pit of his chest and he sobbed, a single, painful sob that must have been loud enough for the man outside to hear. 

"Grab a towel," the voice said. Michael blinked slowly and waited, forehead creased. "Grab a towel because I'm coming in," he clarified. Michael scrambled for a towel so fast he almost fell out of the shower.

"No no, don't do that!" He called out desperately even as the door was already swinging open. 

Geoff walked in with one hand over his eyes, feeling along the wall with his hands as Michael rushed to wrap the large towel around his waist, dropping it twice in the process. 

"You decent?" Geoff asked after a few moments of rustling. 

Michael looked down at himself. Towel pulled up to his waist, the end being scrunched tightly in one hand as his other crossed his chest, he replied, "Depends on your idea of decent." 

Opening his middle fingers so that he could peer past them, Geoff nodded satisfactorily, “More decent than anyone else would be,” he said with a smile. Michael could tell he was trying hard to keep his eyes on Michael’s face after the initial sweep. 

Under the scrutiny, Michael clutched the towel tighter. 

He sniffed, blinking in an attempt to clear the moisture from his eyes in embarrassment. 

Geoff tutted. Leaning down to pick up a discarded face towel from the floor he ran the tap over one corner and wrung out the fabric. He only hesitated in front of Michael for a moment before gently wiping at the young man’s cheeks and eyes, cleaning away the sticky tear stains, leaving his skin flushed and red. 

Michael flinched, almost stepping back when he found himself stopped by an invisible force - well that and Geoff’s other hand on his arm.

“Relax,” he said simply. “Nothing inappropriate happening here.”

Michael coughed awkwardly, “I didn’t think-”

“I know what you were thinking.”

Geoff let his hand linger on Michaels cheek as Michael zipped his mouth shut. 

"You know you look a lot better when you aren't slimy with sewage," Geoff pointed out, meeting Michael’s eye as he finally drew the damp towel away from the young man’s skin. 

“I’m not usually that much of a mess,” Michael promised. Geoff nodded.

“I don’t doubt that.”

Michael pulled the towel a little tighter and played with the hem with one hand. He could feel the water dripping down his legs. 

“You okay now?” Geoff asked softly, passing the towel between his hands.

Michael nodded, “I think you bursting in here scared it out of me.”

Geoff’s hand shot to his chest in offense, “Excuse me, I did not burst anywhere, I respectively entered a room where my mate was upset.”

“Fuck,” Michael cursed, pulling away from Geoff with a gasp. “Fuck, you’re my _mate.”_

“Sure am.”

“You’re my actual mate.”

“Actual mate.” Geoff confirmed. 

“You knew I was coming.” 

“I’m used to feeling an approaching mate by now.”

Michael chewed his lip, “Because everyone else here is your mate too.”

Smiling, Geoff shifted to lean against the countertop with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jack told me you’d figured that out.” 

Michael watched him, gauging his reaction but there was nothing to read on Geoff’s face.

"How did you know?" 

"I dunno, just a feeling I guess,” Michael replied with a shrug. 

Geoff nodded, “Mates intuition,” he suggested with a small smile. 

“I guess so.”

“Ray was the same when he turned up, we thought we’d be Omega-less forever, then he shows up on our doorstep half starved and exhausted to hell,” the Alpha considered Michael for a moment, adding, “but definitely a damn sight cleaner and not nearly as close to death as you were.” 

“I wasn’t close to death,” Michael scoffed. 

“You passed out in my arms with a fever of 104, you were closer than I ever want to see you again.” 

Michael zipped his mouth shut again pretty quickly, watching Geoff shift against the counter, his eyes fixed on the dripping wet hair on Michael’s scalp. 

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Michael said after a moment or two, quietly and a little choked. 

Geoff waved a hand dismissively, “Ray? he’ll get over it.” Michael didn't need 'mates intuition' to see that he was apprehensive about his response. 

"I'm really sorry," he pressed and Geoff sighed. 

"Tell that to Ray, not me." 

Amongst the steamy air and the ghost of Geoff’s touch on his skin, something leapt to the forefront of Michael’s mind. 

“I’m naked,” he whispered, his cheeks pinking. He huffed indignantly as Geoff snorted comically. 

“You’re under a towel you’re fine,” he replied through giggles. 

“I’d kind of like to put some clothes on,” Michael said, shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other. “If you don’t mind,” he added after a thought. 

Geoff relented with a dramatic sigh, “Sure,” he dragged out, leaning past him to pick up Michael’s dirty, rotten clothes from the corner. 

Michael reached out to take them but Geoff stepped out of his reach, holding the clothes away from him, “No no no, these are going straight in the trash,” he informed, looking very much like he didn’t want to inhale too much with the clothes near his face, “I’m going to get you something clean to wear.”

He started to back away, turning to leave before Michael jumped up and stopped him, the shirt-

“You can toss the pants, but-” he hesitated, Geoff’s interested expression and hm? keeping him going, “could you keep the shirt? I can clean it later, just bag it up or something, I just kind of want to keep it.”

Geoff smiled, “Yeah, I can do that.” He didn’t even bother asking why.

“It belonged to a friend,” Michael explain needlessly. Geoff nodded. 

“Wait here.” 

\---

He didn’t have to wait long, standing awkwardly in the strange, foreign bathroom with his own reflection staring back at him. He hadn’t realised how much he’d changed since leaving home. 

He could easily blame the excessive amount of trekking and severe lack of food for the skin and bones his body had become. Sharp collar bones, waxy skin drawn over ribs and hips, he looked like something out of a horror movie and he hadn’t even noticed. 

He vaguely wondered what Geoff had thought. If he’d even paid attention. 

“Try these on for size,” he hadn’t even noticed Geoff come through the door but he suddenly had an armful of clothes and the echo of a door click in his head. 

A pair of sweatpants that - thankfully - pulled in at the waist, and a dark green t-shirt with some weird emblem adorning the front hung off his frame as he wiped the dribbles of water from his forehead and tried to straighten up the bathroom as much as he could before leaving. 

Geoff was waiting for him when he opened the door, leaning against the bedroom door with a shit eating grin on his face. 

Michael looked at Geoff, then down at himself, and back up to Geoff, "What?" 

Geoff shrugged, "Nothing,” he said without much thought. “It's just nice to see my new mate wearing my clothes." 

Michael tried to roll his eyes but his cheeks pinked without his consent.

His grin got even bigger - if that was even possible - as he pushed off from the door and slung an arm around Michael’s shoulders, starting to guide him back towards the stairs. 

“So Michael, twenty one years old from New Jersey, do you have any questions for me?”

Michael pulled up short. Sure, he had a fuckton of questions, a thousand things he could plausibly ask and yet one question sprung to mind almost immediately. 

“Yeah actually…can I use your phone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to come say hi on my tumblr (glackedandmullered) I wanna talk to you aaaaall about this


	6. Chapter 6

“Three weeks, Three fucking weeks, Michael!” 

For a brief second, Michael imagined his best friend as a jackhammer. A jackhammer with red hair and large sunglasses because - with the volume which she screeched into his head through the phone - she might as well be one. 

“I know-”

“All I get is a short shitty message saying you’re in a truck with a stranger and then you vanished. For three weeks,” 

“Lindsay I told you-”

“I thought you were dead!” She interrupted again, voice shrill and she was a jackhammer once more, “I thought that guy had gutted you on the side of a road or if you had got to Indiana that maybe someone got you there!”

“Lindsay-”

“I nearly came to get you-”

Michael narrowed his eyes and scoffed, “You nearly came-”

“Don’t you start, you don’t get to complain about _my_ actions when you fucking disappear on me for-”

If he knew Lindsay, and he did - extremely well - then he knew she could stick on a tirade for hours if left to it; she was a tough nut like that. And he didn’t particularly feel like being yelled at for that long. 

“Three fucking weeks, yeah I know, just shut up for a minute okay?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gavin watching him. He smiled and tilted his chin up to acknowledge him before moving to another room.

“Michael Jones don’t you tell me-” the door clicked shut behind his back and he leaned against it, feeling the wood beneath one hand. 

“I found them,” he barked. That shut her up immediately. 

“Who?”

He paused, “Are you kidd- my mates,” he told her, enunciating carefully. He heard her gasp. 

“ _Mates_?” She emphasised the S. “As in _plural_?”

He nodded, immediately feeling stupid because it was a _phonecall_ , she couldn’t see him, “Five,” he clarified. 

Lindsay gasped again, “Five?”

“Stop fucking repeating me, yes, five. Yes mates. Yes plural," Michael ground out in annoyance. 

“That’s a pack. Five wolves, that’s a pack.”

He hummed non committally and shrugged to himself, “Bit small for a pack but sure.”

“They’re definitely all your mates?” Lindsay asked. She'd pulled away from the earlier subject completely now, Michael could easily tell. 

“Well, two confirmed, but they’re all Geoff’s mates so that means they’re all mine too right?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard of anyone having more than one mate before.”

“Derek Chiles, senior year of high school,” Michael reminded her.

Derek was gross. A slimy guy with a too-cool-for-anyone attitude and a face like he’d been run over by a bulldozer.

Lindsay scoffed, “That was different, he just wanted to knot a bunch of girls without anyone asking questions.”

Michael gagged at the thought. He heard Lindsay laugh at him through the speaker. 

“I regret mentioning Derek Chiles- let’s talk about something else.”

“Yeah, let’s go back to talking about your plural mates, that’s what I’m _really_ interested in,” Michael could practically feel her wiggling her eyebrows from her place in New Jersey. “What are they like? Are they hot? Do you think they’re hot but they’re actually- like bottom of the food chain sort of deal?”

He chuckled while listening to her talk, he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed her voice. 

“Lindsay?” He heard her hum with attention.

“I have never before heard you sound more like a teenage girl.”

She scoffed, “Oh ha ha, two years ago I _was_ a teenage girl.”

“And yet, you sound more like one now than you ever did then.”

Her indignant huff echoed down the line, “I take offense to that.”

Michael laughed. A door slammed somewhere else in the house and he took a step to the side in case anyone came barrelling through the door that he had been leaning heavily against. 

She coughed after they’d been quiet for a while. He hadn’t even noticed, after so many years as extremely close friends he was more than content to sit in silence for hours with her. “So?” 

“What?” He’d forgotten what they’d even been saying. 

“Your _mates_ , dumbass, what are they like?”

“Oh- um, they’re a…. an interesting pack.”

“That sounds ominous,” she replied slowly. “Good interesting or…?” 

“I don’t know yet. I like them, but I’ve only known them for, like, five hours so I’ll hold judgement.”

Lindsay whistled, a sound that travelled through a direct line to Michael’s brain, “Wow, you must really like them, you don’t hold judgement on anything,” she said. 

Michael laughed through his nose, “Shut the fuck up.”

“But you’ll keep me updated now, right?” She asked, more serious now, the laugh out of her tone. 

He nodded. She couldn’t see him, “Promise.”

“So,” he hedged, ruffling his hair with his free hand, “tell me about New Jersey while I’ve been MIA, has my mom said anything? have you seen her?”

Lindsay thought about it, “It’s been the same. Like you never even left,” She hesitated. Lindsay never hesitated, she knew what she wanted to say and she said it. “Your mom- no she hasn’t said anything.”

It didn’t take intelligence to know she was lying. 

“Lindsay?” 

The Alpha was breathing slowly. He could hear her beginning breathy words before abandoning them. 

“Lindsay,” he repeated, “tell me.” 

“She...I don’t think she expects you to come back, Michael.” 

He felt like someone had shoved rock down this throat and let it fall to his stomach, he felt heavy and slid down the door as his shoulders dropped. 

“W-what?” he stammered, suddenly choked. “Did- did she _tell_ you that?”

“Not in so many words but...just trust me.” He did.

He hugged his knees and ducked his head between them, muffling himself to his friend, “Oh my god.”

“You’ll be better off without her!” Lindsay rushed to reply. “She’s a bitch, she doesn’t deserve you.” 

He couldn’t deny it but still, “Linds!” 

She hummed a ‘nuh uh’ and tutted, “She’s a fucking asshole, dude. You know it, we know it, hell I think _she_ knows it.”

“She’s still-” 

“She’s _nothing_ ,” she was pitying him. “Besides, you don’t even have to worry about that now. You found your mates.”

“So I found them? So fucking what? What was this all for, Lindsay? Tell me that,” he growled angrily. “I’ve walked across half the fucking country, I’ve put my life at risk - I’m tired, and angry and after all that, after i did all of that to present so my family will finally accept me and I won’t even get that anymore!”

He was breathing heavily. 

“What’s the fucking point now? Hmm, Linds? what the fuck is it?”

“I guess you have to start living for _you_ now, live to make yourself happy." 

It was fucking cheesy but it stopped him in his tracks. 

\---

Michael didn’t realize how long they ended up talking and by the time he hung up, the only room in light was the living room and that was purely because of the side lamp that someone had left on for him. 

The couch had been dressed up with a thick white comforter and two pillows stacked against the arm. He smiled. 

He leaned his head around the doorway into the hall just in case anyone was still around - nothing, no one, they had obviously gone to bed.

If he had even an ounce of sneak in him he could have taken up the stairs, stood outside the door and listened for breathing or anything else, listened for his mates. But he didn't. So instead he ducked back into the living room, door shutting behind him as he flopped his whole body onto the couch. 

Staring at the ceiling, at the waves of plaster making up a spiral of old-school home design, he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that they’d set him up to sleep downstairs. Even though he was new - literally one day as far as he could recall new - for some reason he felt like he would just slot in without effort. 

He didn’t know how mates worked, but he assumed they had to _work_.

Then again, he found himself thinking, what if it didn’t work? Just because he’d come all this way, gone through hell to find them, it wasn’t a guaranteed deal that he would just...fit. 

_They probably don’t want to push you,_ his mind supplied. _If they didn’t want you then they wouldn’t have saved your life._

“People change their minds,” he whispered to the ceiling before mentally slapping himself for being so defeatist. “It’s been one day, fucking stick it out.”

If it _didn’t_ work out… well if it didn’t work out he was stuck. Fucking stuck with nowhere to go and nothing to do. He couldn’t go back home, after what Lindsay had said he didn’t know if he’d even want to _try_ , if his mom didn’t want him then fuck her, he didn’t want her either. 

It _had_ to work.

He dropped his glasses off the edge of the couch and covered his vision with his hands, thinking about Geoff’s eyes, Geoff’s eyes lingering on his damp, naked chest while he stood before him basically exposed to those eyes. He thought about Jack’s gentle touches as he fixed up Michael’s arm, and he pushed back the phantom pain from the healing limb. 

_Scent with them and you’ll present. Scent and that wound can heal and everything will be fine again._

He thumped the comforter and turned his face against the pillow, muffling his grumbled words in the soft fabric, “I don’t even know what scenting means.” 

He let out a frustrated groan and folded himself into a comforter burrito, not caring how warm and sweaty he became within a few seconds. 

\---

Someone was in the kitchen. 

That was Michael’s first thought upon waking. 

Daylight illuminated the curtains and cast a warm glow over the room. He didn’t remember falling asleep - when does anyone ever - but he felt like crap, groggy and all in his head so he assumed he hadn’t managed many hours. 

He groaned and rolled over, realizing in the first few seconds that he’d completely lost the comforter - it was now forming a log moat along the floor beside the couch - and his pillow was over the arm, teetering and barely hanging on. 

Locating his glasses after a few seconds of aimless grabbing he pushed them onto his nose and yawned. He sat up and stretched his limbs, feeling the satisfying pops as he realigned his body and noted the deep crease lines adorning his skin from the sleep. 

Someone made a noise in the kitchen again, peaking Michael’s interest and he smacked his dry lips and swallowed saliva into his dry throat as he stood. No one could consider that couch a five star sleeping experience - that was all he could think as he creaked and staggered like an old man to the hallway. 

The fridge was open. The door shifting as someone moved around beside it. 

Messy hair popped up over the door. A short, skinny stature of a man and Ray turned to look at him. He had a ball point pen clenched between his teeth and a spiral bound notebook in one hand. He smiled around the pen, though it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Morning,” he whispered, closing the fridge with a soft thump. “Did I wake you?” his words sounded funny being said around something in his mouth. 

Michael shook his head, “Nah, I was awake already,” he lied easily. Ray nodded. 

The Omega leaned over the counter and scribbled something in the notebook before tucking both that and the pen into his back pocket. 

“I’m going to the store,” he said as he passed Michael in the hallway. He slipped a pair of ratty looking vans onto his feet and wrapped his fingers around a set of keys before stopping. 

“Do you wanna come?” Even though it sounded forced, and a little fake, Michael agreed. 

Ray nodded sharply, sliding past Michael once more to duck into the living room. Michael followed him, watching him tear off a piece of his note paper and pen something down onto it before dropping it onto the pillow. Michael picked it up, questioning but decided against looking at Ray as he did it. 

I’ve kidnapped Michael, he didn’t run. 

Ray plucked the note out of his hand and placed it back on the pillow without a word. He then proceeded to leave the room so quickly that Michael heard the front door opening before he’d even got a chance to realize Ray had left. 

He was halfway out of the door before looking down at himself. Himself that was dressed in wrinkled, slept-in clothes that definitely looked that way. He must have been looking at himself for too long because Ray called out from the car, “It’s Walmart not a red carpet event, shift it.”

“Whatever,” Michael grumbled, hands in his pockets as he strolled to the car and settled into the front seat. 

Ray started up the engine. 

“Hows the arm?” Michael glanced down at the mentioned limb as Ray pulled out of the driveway. In his t-shirt the wound was out in the open for everyone to see. 

He’d actually almost forgotten about it. It didn’t really hurt anymore, just phantom throbs and stings when he moved it too fast but it was ugly and dark with purples and reds. He kind of wished he had asked for a longer sleeved shirt to hide it - it was then he realised just how much better it was looking. Waxy and ripe, sure, but it was nowhere near a scabbed, crusted wound he’d expect from only 3 days. 

“It’s okay,” he replied simply to Ray, as if he hadn’t been silent all the way down the first street. 

“Good,” Ray nodded with satisfaction, “It looked like it hurt.” 

Michael shrugged. They fell into silence, though this one more comfortable than he was expecting.

“Did you really think I might take off?” Michael asked after a while, a little jokingly.

Ray shrugged and flicked on his turn signal just as a compact car cut them off, the Omega flipped them off and grumbled angrily before saying, “Geoff wanted to take shifts checking on you, just in case.”

“Did you?” 

Ray shook his head, “Gavin was second, and he slept right through so no, Geoff came up around one, said you were still on the phone.”

“It was really that late?” He didn’t really expect an answer but Ray hummed in affirmation regardless, lips tight and eyes focused on the road. 

It was warm, even this early in the morning - whatever time that was, he hadn’t even checked - warm enough that even with no heating on in the car he was starting to sweat. But maybe that was more of the anxious nerves than the heat. 

“Look, it took me almost a month of exhaustion and starvation, risking my life in bad states to get to you. I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted, pausing before adding, “unless you want me to.”

“We don’t,” Ray replied quickly, “want you go I mean. Even though Gavin said if you _did_ leave, it would be my fault.” 

Michael started to protest, turning his whole body around in the seat to look at Ray. His mate took his eyes off the road just long enough to shake his head. 

“I admit I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he sighed. Again, before Michael could get a word in, he continued talking. 

"It just gets to me you know? People acting like discovering they're an omega is basically having a death sentence handed to them,” being cut off from speaking was becoming tiresome but Michael allowed it since there were basically tears in Ray’s eyes and he didn’t think either of them wanted to acknowledge that fact. "People _wanna_ be alphas, they'll _accept_ being betas, but _nobody_ wants to be an omega and it sucks, because we aren't _weak_ , we might have a submissive streak but we aren't these pathetic creatures that everybody thinks we are." 

“I don’t think you’re- I wasn’t- _ugh_ , that’s _not_ what I meant, I swear.” 

Ray shrugged, “It’s cool.”

“I just- It’s complicated,” Michael pressed, he fished around in his mind for the right words to say but nothing fluttered into his grasp. 

Ray sighed, “Dude I said it was cool. Don’t need to drag it out more,” he sounded annoyed, _fuck, come on words._

“But I _need_ you to get it.”

Ray squinted, “Why?”

With a groan he dug around for something to respond with, something more than a shrug. “Because you’re supposed to be my mate and I don’t want to jump right into this with one of you hating me,” he said pathetically. 

Ray let out a breathy sigh, “I don’t hate you.”

“You’re just taking back liking me,” Michael grumbled in response. 

“I’m putting you on probation.”

Michael raised one eyebrow, “Probation?”

“Yep,” Ray confirmed with a brisk nod, “Mate probation.”

Michael’s laugh sounded half confident, half strangled, “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Ray said, half smiling, “I just made it up.” 

Michael stared at him.

“I think it means you’re on thin ice,” he concluded.

Michael zipped his mouth shut and frowned. He kicked his feet up onto the dash, flicking his eyes to Ray to see his reaction. Nothing. He kept his feet there. 

Between his legs he caught sight of something. Something sticking out of the glove box. Focusing his eyes on it he smirked. A small plush Waluigi had been wedged into the space, keeping the door open just enough for his squashed face and limbs to be identifiable. The mustache was wonky and detached on the left side, with stuffing falling from the tear.

Common ground.

Michael coughed, “Would it help if I told you I’m a huge video game nerd?”

Ray’s hands flexed against the steering wheel, “Console or PC guy?”

“Console, no question.”

The Omega nodded in apparent satisfaction, “Xbox, Playstation, or Nintendo?”

“Gonna have to go with the Xbox.”

“Gamerscore?”

“Close to one seventy.”

Ray smirked. “I can work with that.”

“So it helped?” Michael asked hopefully, praying his desperation didn’t show up too much.

Ray smiled, a genuine grin that spread all the way to his eyes. 

“You’re saying the right things.”

The car jerked a hard right, jolting Michael into the door and ket out a noise halfway between a squawk and a gasp. Ray chuckled.

“Okay since that’s all said and done, might as well get some breakfast,” Ray said, it was only then that Michael noticed they’d passed the same Drive-thru three times, “Mcdonald’s okay?”

Michael narrowed his eyes as his mate, “I thought we were going to the store.”

Ray shook his head, “Nah, that’s Jack’s job, he likes grocery shopping for the house," he said, pausing to let out a breathy laugh before adding, "fuck knows why." 

Michael narrowed his eyes at his mate, "You...lied to me?" 

"Wow. Dramatic. I just wanted to talk to you without Gavin around to be an overzealous asshole." He explained. 

He paused, "Be honest, if I'd said _we need to talk_ you'd have panicked, am I right?" He was. 

"This way we get a sweet greasy breakfast and I learned something new about you." 

Michael scrunched up in nose, "What? That I like video games?" 

Ray smiled softly, pulling to a stop in a space outside the restaurant, "That you really care what people think of you." 

And then Ray did something that Michael wasn’t expecting. He reached across the center console and wrapped his small hand around Michaels, squeezing tightly. His touch felt like electricity, like static radiating from his skin. He pulled away just as fast, hand going to the door before pausing. 

“I _am_ happy you’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats Ray passed his driving test... because having them walk would have been so boring.


	7. Chapter 7

It was 6:09. The digital clock set into the McDonald’s grimy wall told him so. Ray, apparently, was built out of strong determination. 

On the outside it looked okay, just like any other restaurant in the chain of thousands; but inside, the place looked about one inspection away from being closed down. Mucky and slick with grease, the fluorescent lighting in the ceiling illuminating every spec of dirt like a UV lamp at a crime scene. 

Ray moved through it as if he didn’t even notice, foot sliding in a dollop of mustard on the floor but he righted himself without a word and sidled over to the counter, ordering easily for them both before gesturing to one of the far booths. Michael left him to it - he couldn’t have offered to pay even if Ray had requested it - and brushed a few stray, cold fries off the bench as he sat down. 

Over breakfast Ray explained how Geoff had come home from work - Bartender, hanging on by a thread apparently - raving about a new feeling, a new scent permeating his dreams. 

It had been a surprise to the pack but not a shock, after all they’d been through it all before. 

“Not me,” Ray said, “I was the last, before you of course, you were my first.” 

“It’s an honor to be your first,” Michael replied with a sly grin and a bow as far as he could with a table over his lap. 

Ray barked out laughter so loud that the only other customer in the place shot them a glare, and shoved the remaining half of his hotcake between Michael’s teeth.

Ray told him then that the guest room that had been available for both Ryan and Ray when he appeared had since been stuffed to the rafters with junk from each of their respective homes. Apparently they hadn’t been living together long. 

“It’s been like a year, since I moved in.” 

They had tried to shift it all in time for Michael’s arrival but with Geoff’s senses acting a little off - blame Michael’s unpresented scent - no one had a solid idea of when he would turn up. They were wrong in thinking they had a little more time. 

“We’ll get the place empty soon, blame Gavin, he has the most stuff,” Ray said, gulping down the end of his coffee and crumpling the cup in his hand. “Should have you in there by the end of the day.” 

Michael couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed again. He was sure the guest room was great, but if he was going to be moving upstairs he would rather-

“Do I have to?”

Ray paused in playing with the cardboard rim of his cup, “Have to what?”

“Sleep in the guest room.” 

Ray chewed over the thought, “You’d rather take the couch? I didn’t think _anyone_ would take that over the bed but-”

Michael cut him off, shaking his head, “No, no can’t I-” he swallowed, embarrassed by the blush steadily climbing up his neck and cheeks, “can’t I sleep with...you?” 

Ray looked a little taken aback but to his merit he reined back his surprise pretty promptly, “I- really? I mean it’s just, that’s-” his hands gestured, as if trying to conjure the words for him. “That’s pretty sudden!” 

He looked flustered and Michael’s subconscious could only draw one conclusion, “You don’t want me to.” He dropped his eyes, fingers picking at a loose bit of skin along the edge of his thumb. It tugged free and blood pooled around the tiny wound. 

Ray reached across the table and took his hands, “I do! Sorry, sorry, I was just surprised,” he apologised hurriedly. “It’s so fast, I didn’t expect you to want that so soon.”

Michael mentally slapped himself, “Is that not how it works? I thought I’d just- I feel stupid,” he admitted, bubbling a laugh from his chest even though it felt hollow. 

Ray’s foot tapped his shin and he looked up. 

“You aren’t stupid,” the Omega said sincerely, “I was in the guest room for over a month, can’t speak for the rest but I’d guess it was more than a couple of days,” he explained. 

“I don’t know how this works,” Michael confessed. The door swung open and a handful of men in fluorescent jackets marched in, heading straight for the counter. Michael lowered his voice, “I’ve never really dealt with mates before.”

Ray met his eyes with one brow raised, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I would hope not,” Ray chuckled. 

Michael grumbled lightheartedly, “You know what I mean.” 

With a nod, Ray pulled away and started piling the trash together on the tray, “I guess I do,” he affirmed, standing up. “But if you do want to share, you’re welcome to.” 

Michael slid out of the booth and joined him at his side. Standing beside him it was almost like there was some sort of invisible hand pushing him closer and he stumbled across the few inches, bumping shoulders with his mate, Ray shot him a weird glance but put his arms out to steady Michael with a smile. 

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” he finished, sauntering out through the doorway with Michael in tow. They’d left the tray atop the trash can, and usually Michael would turn around and neaten it up, but the trash can was overflowing and he vaguely wondered how much longer the place would be around. 

He didn’t really feel like coming back. 

\---

They’d parked the car on the next street over - Ray hadn’t said why but Michael had seen enough gang signs in car windows near the building to guess - up on the curb in front of a line of stores with dimmed lights and locked doors. 

As Michael was rounding the car to the passenger side he saw it. 

Something in a storefront window that caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Something small and plush, a cute round kitten with fluffy ears and a pink nose. His eyes widened and something tugged at his heart. Michael patted his pockets hopelessly, knowing full well that the cat Adam had given him was long gone. 

He hadn’t even thought about it but he knew it was probably on that waters edge in Little Rock, possibly washed out into the current, or trampled into the dirt. 

A trickle of discomfort settled in the pit of his stomach, filling his blood with tar. It had meant so much to Adam, the one who had helped him more than he could thank for, and in less than a couple of weeks Michael had unintentionally dumped it without thinking. 

Ray picked up on the change of atmosphere, slipping his fingers between Michael’s, squeezing gently in comfort. “You alright?” he asked in a low voice. 

Michael nodded. 

“Just thought about something a little sad.” 

Ray considered him, giving one small nod before tugging him towards the car, opening the door for Michael to get in before responding.

“Was it the thought of Gavin being an Alpha because that saddens me all the time, dude,” he said, shutting the door firmly and taking a look down the empty street before climbing into his own side. 

Michael reeled from the sudden subject change, quickly - and gratefully - realising that Ray was trying to distract him. 

"No, but I appreciate the attempt." 

"Attempt at what?" Ray asked innocently, almost batting his eyelids at his mate. 

Michael shot him a plain look and he rolled his eyes.

"So subtlety is not my strong point, sue me. Or just take the bait." He seemed to think about it for a second before adding, "Unless you want to discuss the sad thing." 

Rays hand was warm against his, skin on skin causing a comfortable friction that he couldn't ignore. He didn't want to talk about Adam, or the cat toy that was making his brain question every decision he'd ever made. He didn't want to weigh down the nice - if early - morning he'd been having. 

So instead he thought back to Gavins hand over his mouth, grip tight on his waist. He couldn’t remember much from that last day before they found him but he remembered that clearly enough. Either way, as begrudging a person Michael was, he couldn’t throw Gavin under the bus so easily. “I don’t think I know him well enough to make that call yet.” 

“You only have to know him five minutes to see that he should _not_ be trusted with that kind of responsibility,” Ray replied, scoffing through a laugh. 

“I didn’t know there could be two Alpha’s in a pack.” Michael mused rather than answering. 

“Not in a normal pack, they’d tear each other apart,” Ray noted, nodding thoughtfully. “But we aren’t exactly a normal pack are we,” Michael hummed in agreement. 

“Mates are different I guess, but Gavin hasn’t technically stepped over a line just yet so we haven’t tested it.”

Michael raised one eyebrow in intrigue, “Technically?”

“Well he did kind of...try to get dominance once,” Ray answered, keeping his eyes on the road though Michael could see a nervous glint in his eye. Briefly looking at Michael he added, “just once though, and Geoff knocked him straight on his ass. 

“Geoff’s _the_ Alpha and Gavin understands that nowadays, he just occasionally gets a little power hungry, you know?” 

Michael did know. He knew exactly what it was like to live with an Alpha who wants nothing more than to assert their dominance, to be the head of the household - hell, he’d grown up with three of them. It was a lot of fighting, scrapping with teeth and claws, growls that woke him up at three in the morning followed by crashes and thuds. 

And that was just his dad and brother. His mom was something else entirely. Because she _was_ the Alpha, the top dog, the one not to be reckoned with. 

He sincerely hoped that Gavin wasn’t anything like them when he was trying to show off.

“But Geoff’s got a rein on him.” Michael said, a prayer leaking into his voice. 

Ray nodded, smiling, “Geoff’s been an Alpha a lot longer than Gavin, he knows his way around a boisterous guy like Gav,” he clarified. Michael let out a breath. 

\---

They were mainly all in the living room when Michael and Ray returned. Without the excuse of important conversation, the trip back had been a lot faster, straight there and pulling into the drive after barely thirty minutes. 

The bedding had been piled up on the floor between the couch and the wall, and the TV was blaring sounds of gunfire as Geoff played through a level while Jack and Gavin watched. Ryan wasn’t around. 

Jack beamed when he saw them walking in, hand in hand. Leaping up, he drew Ray into a soft kiss and placed a firm hand on Michael’s shoulder. 

“Friends?” 

Michael smiled, Ray leaned across the kiss him on the cheek, and Jack enveloped them in a crushing hug that wedged Michael between the two of them. He kept smiling. 

“As if there was ever any doubt,” Ray said between them, his words muffled against the fabric of Jack’s shirt.

\---

As time went on through the morning, Michael noticed a distinct lack of the sixth mate.

He couldn’t count how long they’d been sitting in the same place with Jack so close Michael was practically in his lap and Geoff on his other side, leaning over his knees staring intently at the screen, tongue poking out from between his lips in concentration. He could have guessed a couple of hours at least but only five of them had been there in that time. 

“Ryan?” he queried finally, looking between Geoff and the door. 

Geoff grumbled and tossed the controller across to Ray in the far chair, “Get me this fucking achievement,” he grunted, rolling his eyes as the lad leaned forward and began running around on screen before looking at Michael.

“We all booked a couple of weeks off work for your arrival, but Ryan’s boss is a jerk, couldn’t let him off so many days,” he explained, cursing in frustration at his mate as Ray passed the controller back along the line, satisfied with the telltale sound of an achievement popping. 

“You fucking suck,” the Alpha grumbled, “but thanks.” 

Ray grinned a cheesy grin and threw a lazy thumbs up in Geoff’s general direction. 

“He’ll be back for dinner,” Geoff finished, flashing Michael a smile while simultaneously flipping the bird at Ray. 

\---

True to his word, when six PM rolled in so did Ryan, thrusting his jacket in the general direction of the chair closest to the door, waving a brief, tired greeting. Ray repositioned the coat as it pooled on the floor. 

Michael stood up and followed him through to the kitchen. 

He flopped down onto one of the tall stools tucked under the counter and stared at Ryans broad back. His muscles were tense, twitching and firm and Michael’s hands fidgeted with the need to massage his thumbs into the tissue and work out the knots for him. He was sure he’d feel sturdy beneath his hands. 

“Did you have a good day at work?” he asked, shaking out his hands. Menial conversation at it’s best but it didn’t hurt to be menial sometimes. 

Ryan scoffed, "I think the people of Austin are my least favorite people ever," he said with a huff, setting up the coffee maker with his attention half on the task and half on his frustration. A handful of grounds dusted the counter. "It's always Ryan can't you do this, Ryan why aren't you doing that, Ryan I asked you to do this tomorrow but it still isn't done a day fucking early," Michael almost laughed at the mocking voices spewing from Ryan's mouth in the form of words. 

"So...good day then." Michael concluded with a chuckle. 

"Oh yeah the best fucking day," the coffee machine bleeped three times and Ryan poured himself a mug of the steaming drink before finally turning around, blowing lightly over the rim of the mug. 

His eyes widened upon seeing Michael face to face, as if he hadn't realised who he'd been talking to. 

"Sorry, I didn't- hello, how are you?" 

"Alright, thanks. Getting used to wandering around the house." 

"You'll be in and out with no hesitation soon." 

Michael nodded with a grin. 

Ryan gestured down, "Can I see your arm?" 

“Why not,” Michael answered, shrugging. He held out his arm for Ryan to appraise. “Everyone else wants to.”

“Mates prerogative to make sure you’re okay,” Ryan replied without effort, turning Michael’s forearm over in his hands he winced sympathetically at the deep bruising and clumpy scabs, "Ouch, still looking nasty." 

He briefly wondered how long it would take to get used to that, them calling him their mate, the fact that he _had_ them to get used to. He needed to get over it soon either way, because his heart practically had palpitations every time the word was spoken. 

"Yeah it's not the prettiest is it," Michael laughed, shaking the limb out of Ryan's grasp. "But everyone says girls like a good scar with a story, what about you?" He wiggled his eyebrows, hoping he was succeeding in looking suggestive and not pathetic.

"If I hadn't been the one to slice it open it’d be hot as hell, darling." 

"Pour me some," Geoff said, wandering in through the doorway. He sat himself down next to Michael on the next available stool and rested his head on his palms. 

Ryan raised the mug before reaching across to the fridge. He pulled out a beer and offered it up with a smile. 

“Wouldn’t you prefer this?” 

Geoff stared, then smiled, then sighed and said, “You’re the reason for my alcoholism, but you know me so well.”

Ryan cracked the top and slid it across the counter, offering one to Michael with his other hand. He took it but didn’t open it. 

“How was your day Ry?” 

“Austin people are the worst,” Michael answered for him, drawing a finger across the drips of condensation on his bottle. “Ryan this, Ryan that, Ryan...why?” The mate in question gave a short nod to affirm his short hand version and smiled. 

“Cliffnotes version,” Michael grinned. 

Ryan ruffled a hand through his hair affectionately, “Good job.”

\---

In their childhood, when Lindsay used to give Michael an excuse to escape the tyranny of the Jones household in the ruse of slumber parties, she would plan out the evening to a T. Even as far as the next morning. 

Whether it was a night of movies and videogames or even just ordering in a pizza and doing homework, she always knew exactly what each minute would bring; reckoning that it made everything easier and smoother - “and let’s be honest here, Michael, you don’t need your life to be any more complicated than it already is” - and he depended on it for a long time, finding solace in her immaculate organisation skills, making it easier for him to focus on each activity as it came. 

It became apparent rather quickly that his mates didn’t share the same philosophy. 

They were disorganised and messy, doing everything on that lazy day - and evening as it came - in a spontaneous rhythm that somehow still managed to match up with everyones wavelength. Gavin and Ray took a trip to Five Guys for lunch, coming back with exactly what everyone would have ordered had they been given the opportunity - they even managed to guess Michael’s choice, even though he’d never stepped foot in the place before - and Jack drifted in and out through the day. 

Geoff, however, remained stationary for most of the day. Settled into a dip in the couch that fit his shape perfectly, he was content to let the others bring him whatever he wanted, and encouraged Michael to do the same. 

“Might as well use the power while it lasts,” he said in the early afternoon, standing up to go do the one thing he couldn’t tell someone else to do for him. 

Fully intending to use the lazy day to his advantage - after all four days was by far not long enough to forget about all the travelling - he set about forming his own dip in the couch. Once Ryan was with them too, the Wii was booted up and the house became much louder, echoing sounds of crashes and Ray screaming _Fuck the Rainbow Road!_

In the evening, as they all started leaving for bed Jack bundled up the sheets from the couch and took them with him, not laying them down for Michael to sleep on. 

After a little while it was just Gavin and himself left on the couch. They’d been sitting close all evening, knees touching lightly and shoulders close. 

Gavin stretched, bending his back in a ridiculous arc. The movement pulled his shirt taught across his chest, showing off his slim but lean muscles beneath the skin.

“So I heard you’re joining us,” he said, eyes bright and hopeful as they watched him.

Michael blinked owlishly before it clicked. Fuck, yeah of course, he’d told Ray. 

“The couch isn’t the same.”

Gavin nodded, flashing his teeth as he grinned, “Come on then, before we miss them.” 

Michael took the offered hands as Gavin held his out to pull Michael up. 

The hallway was dark without the artificial light and for some reason one of Michael’s hands stayed clasped with Gavin’s, allowing the Brit to lead him towards the only lit room in the house. Already in there, the four other mates were in various states of undress and disorder. 

Gavin immediately let go and bounded over the bed to the other side, slipping off his jeans somewhere in between. Suddenly alone in a room full of people, Michael hesitated. 

Jack paused in removing his shirt and cocked his head at Michael hanging out in the doorway, “Aren’t you gonna take off those clothes?” 

They were all eyeing him expectantly.

He hadn’t even thought about what they may have implied when he told Ray he wanted to sleep in their bed. Did they think he meant sleep with them like...sleep with them?

Michael would be the last to admit to being practically a virgin, he wasn’t particularly ashamed of the fact, more that he wasn’t used to the conversation that came with saying it out loud. He’d just never been interested in the act itself, or anything like that, there were more pressing matters to be dealt with at night. But if that’s what they wanted...

He stripped off his shirt, self consciously curling into himself to hide - they all looked so...healthy, much more than his skeleton figure - and folded it over his arm before placing it on the top of the dresser in the corner. The others were being rougher, tossing their clothes aside so they lay strewn across the floor but he didn’t feel comfortable enough to do that just yet. 

Next came his jeans, shimmied off his hips to pool at his feet until he could lean down to get them without anyone looking - they weren’t but he felt the eyes that weren’t there. His hands hesitated at his boxers. 

Glancing around he noted that Gavin had already ducked under the covers and was reclined against the pillows in the middle of the bed, Ryan was on his way too, crawling across the sheets to join him. Neither of them were naked. Nor were Jack or Ray on the other side of the bed by the wall. 

Michael's hands tugged at the waistband but were covered very quickly by a pair of weathered, tattoo'd hands and he looked up into Geoff's eyes. 

"Nothing's going to happen," the man whispered, and Michael would never be happier for the man’s intuition. 

He let out a breathy ‘oh’ that almost descended into laughter. Almost. Instead he leaned against Geoff, letting his Alpha touch his mustached lip to his forehead, feeling his nose nuzzle in his hair. Geoff’s embrace was easy. Calming and basic like an instinct. 

“Gavin’s asleep,” Ryan whispered, chuckling. 

Indeed he was. His scruff of blond hair visible over the sheets, his face pressed into Ryan’s chest. Geoff’s hand settled low on Michael’s back and nudged him forward, encouraging him towards the bed. 

Ryan curled around Gavin, almost hiding the Alpha lad from view while Ray snuggled up on his other side, fingers entwined with Jack’s as he slipped in behind. 

There wasn’t much bed left once the four of them were cuddled up together. It was a large bed - probably purpose made - but for five, Michael didn't imagine that they planned it with him in mind. Because of this, there was no getting out of being tightly spooned by Geoff right on the edge of the mattress, his strong arms around Michaels waist and legs clamped over his shins was all that held the unpresented wolf on the bed. 

His head sure didn't mind, his body didn't seem to either, rather enjoying the warm breath on his neck and gentle sparks travelling along his skin where the two of them met. 

After not long a second arm draped over his waist, more loosely situated than firm and he could only assume it was Jacks. 

Their hands entwined and he let out a deep, slow breath into the quiet room. 

"Goodnight," Geoff whispered just as Michael hit the edge of sleep. 

He drifted off with a nose nuzzling the back of his neck and a sense of security wrapping his entire being in a swaddle of warmth.


	8. Chapter 8

When Michael was a kid he didn't make friends easily. 

He chalked it up to his bad temper and the unruly attitude that he forced into his personality at an early age, to escape the unwanted feelings brought on by his families strict regimes. Only Lindsay had ever seen through his act, being able to tell almost immediately that the god awful loud, obnoxious boy was not really who he was. 

Thanks to her it was with at least an ounce of self worth that he managed to make it through high school, though by the time they had met, damage had already been done. 

Years of isolation from his classmates with no one to laugh with beyond his brother who used him purely for sport, set him on a rocky path that took even the best of Lindsay’s ability to break down to a tolerable level. 

Even the teachers back then thought him a ‘bad egg,’ telling his parents that he would never get far with that kind of attitude and never listening when he told them it wasn’t his fault. But nothing could help him, not even attempting to explain his home situation brought about sympathy - “your family is a breeding ground for strong Alpha’s, Michael, you have to get used to a little tough love” - and by the time he turned eleven, he had given up on the adults in his life entirely. 

At least with Lindsay around he didn’t go through highschool alone, without her who knows what could have happened. Would he have turned into one of those monsters who busts in through doorways with a weapon in the middle of the school day? would he have turned to drugs or alcohol or god knows what else to get by?

Maybe. Maybe not. He didn’t have to think about it really, since none of that happened. But it could have. 

It was with those thoughts that he woke up, snuggled to the chest of one of his mates with legs entwined and soft snoring all around, wondering when he’d got to a point in his life where this came naturally. 

He found himself questioning whether presenting was even important to him anymore. He’d been doing it for others more than anything, pushing himself for his family as he had been all of his life. He got the feeling that his mates wouldn’t care either way, not a word had been said about it beyond Gavin’s Alpha bragging after all. 

He’d been raised to believe that being the Alpha that his bloodline wanted was the be all and end all for a lifetime. If you weren’t Alpha you didn’t matter, end of conversation, closed book case. But, even though he was always dubious growing up, Michael wasn’t so inclined to think that way any longer. 

Ray was happy as an Omega, Jack and Ryan were proud Beta’s and the two that _were_ Alphas weren’t so much dominant as supportive. And, as Ray casually reminded him, where would the Wolf world be without the different classes. Sure as hell not breeding, that’s for sure. They would have died out long before Michael lineage could have really begun. 

As Geoff blinked awake, sleepily smacking his lips before plastering on a lazy grin as he saw Michael awake, the lad didn’t feel any need to know if or when he would present, what he would be. He just felt safe. 

Geoff drew him closer, pressing his young mates face to his chest and cuddling further into the mattress with a soft sigh. Michael drifted off again moments later with no thoughts in his head, only a fuzzy warmth that encompassed everything he existed to be. 

\---

He’d be unable to explain what living with his mates was like in coherent thought. 

Barely five weeks had passed since he had arrived in Austin and settling in had been the easiest thing in his life. It hadn’t been immediate, had taken a week or just over, but suddenly he found himself waking up one day just...slotting in. 

Once the ‘honeymoon’ period was over and they had no choice but to go back to their various jobs Michael found out just how hectic living with five dysfunctional mates could be. 

Geoff’s bartending put him out most nights, coming in during the early hours with a booze soaked shirt which was tossed into the hall to be cleaned by whoever got up first the next morning. He was always extra cuddly after a long shift, Michael discovered, attaching himself to the nearest person like a limpet with purpose. The bed rotation changed nightly, so Michael only experienced this side of Geoff once a week. 

He’d expected Ryan to be a nine to five office job kinda guy, reliable in his timings, but in reality his work schedule was pretty sporadic. Sometimes he would be in all day, mainly doing work on his laptop but occasionally making time for TV and gaming with whoever was around; sometimes he would be out the door at 7am and they wouldn’t see him until the next day. He always arrived grumpy and frustrated, but it barely took minutes for the layers of the day to peel away and the happy, vaguely unusual Ryan to show through. 

Jack made his own schedule, he wouldn’t tell Michael what his job was - Michael decided he was CIA or a stripper or something along those lines - but it meant he spent most of his time in the house and made all of his time available for Michael while they all established the new addition. It was Jack who took him shopping for...well, practically everything since he had arrived with literally jack shit to his name, and Jack who insisted that there was no rush for Michael to get a job since they were plenty well off enough while he settled. 

Gavin and Ray both worked retail, set hours and schedules that Michael could easily gain track of, and they would arrive - sometimes together, sometimes hours apart - with poison on their tongues, spewing vinegar about the people of Austin who were absolutely the worst people to serve that they had ever met. Gavin, unexpectedly, was a pretty knowledgable guy. Not really in terms of book smarts - though he did know a hell of a lot more than Michael - but he could go on forever about tech equipment like cameras. 

One of Michael’s favorite things to do now was sit at the table with everyone while Ryan and Gavin exchanged fast paced conversation about things he personally couldn’t even begin to understand. 

As hectic as daily life was, however, he revelled in the way everyone always had time for each other. It was a show of affection that Michael had never experienced before but, despite their schedules crossing at every point, they never took a second for granted when they were together. 

It was the epitome of cheesy, and thoughts that Michael certainly would have laughed at a year ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he stirred a pasta sauce while Ryan watched over him and made jokes about his ability to burn water; or as he sat on a deck chair in the backyard with Ray curled around Gavin beside him, watching with hazy eyes as Jack watered the carefully planted foliage around the edges. 

He loved video game nights when everyone seemed to produce tv screens out of nowhere and they all linked up to play - Michael split screened with Ryan or took Geoff’s place when he was too lazy to play - and although most of the nights ended with Michael red faced and screaming at Gavin like he’d ended the world, he couldn’t have been happier. 

Above all else, Michael appreciated their ability to keep themselves to themselves and allowed him to do the same. They never asked about his family, his past, anything about the time before they met save for a little idle chatter about his journey across the country. 

Everything was just...simple. 

\---

He often napped in the day, while the others were at work and he was alone. He generally had a few hours to himself when their schedules crossed and Austin was so warm and comfortable that he would sit down and just...wake up a few hours later with cotton mouth and either the sound of somebody - generally Gavin first - arriving home or a horn honking outside. 

One of those napping days, he blinked awake to almost total darkness, the dusky evening light blocked by the blackout blinds beneath the curtains. He’d fallen asleep around eleven, his rumbling stomach told him he probably should have eaten something before taking the nap but he never slept this long, had they even come home? Because he didn’t hear them if they had. 

They had, he just hadn’t heard them...evidently. 

“Sleepyhead!” Ryan greeted with a smile as Michael descended the stairs. 

He waved sleepily, rubbing his crusty eyes with a firm fist, feet stomping down on each step. 

“You didn’t wake me,” Michael grumbled pointlessly, leaning over the countertop to kiss Ryan lightly. 

He heard Ray yell loudly from the next room - _fucking cocksucker_ if he was hearing right - as Ryan shuffles around the kitchen, cleaning dishes and stacking plates. 

“Didn’t get around to it,” he replied simply. “Saved you dinner though, it’s in the fridge.”

Dinner was a stone cold burrito and a plate of chips that had already begun to soften. He thanked Ryan anyway, glanced at the clock - 8:14 - and went off in search of others. 

He left the plate of food on the table beside Ray, who began to pick at it without even a moments thought, hugging his knees to his chest on the couch while his mate played through a couple of levels of a game he didn’t recognise -- Ray assured him that it was purely for achievements sake. 

Still pretty sleepy, despite wasting away most of the day in bed, it wasn’t long before he had to force himself to get up to avoid falling asleep on Ray. Bidding Ray farewell - which he returned around a mouthful of Michael’s food - he headed to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on his face and made a slow journey through the house. 

Jack was nowhere to be seen but he found Geoff outside on the porch, with a bottle of beer and a few empties at his feet. Gavin was yelling up a storm as usual, drunkenly staggering around the front yard, falling a few times before getting to his feet to start all over again. 

“Evening,” Michael greeted with a smile, dropping down to sit beside his Alpha. 

Geoff slung an arm around his boy’s shoulder “Hey buddy,” he said as he passed over his beer. 

Michael took a swig, followed by another, chugging the rest of the bottle before letting it roll from the step as he licked his lips. 

Geoff raised his eyebrows in surprise before chuckling, eyes gleaming and slightly clouded, “Trying to catch up there, bud?” 

“With you? Never.” 

Geoff paused in cracking open another cold one to throw his head back and bark out a heavy laugh, “Heavyweight drinking champion, that’s me.”

Gavin took another lap, almost crashing face first into the porch before righting himself. Geoff popped the cap off his beer and gestured, “And there goes the lightweight of the century,” Michael followed Gavin with his eyes, all the stumbles and falls until, finally, he landed on his ass and stayed there, flopping down onto his back with arms spread across the grass. 

“How many has he had?” Michael asked, sipping the next beer Geoff passed him a little slower. Geoff shook his head with a smile and smacked his lips. 

“Five.” 

“Geoffrey I’m gonna puke,” Gavin had rolled onto his side, reaching out with grabbing hands and moaned pitifully, his voice carrying through the dim light. 

“Lightweight of the century,” Geoff repeated, eyes rolling as he stood up. 

Michael sipped a little more of his beer, mainly ending up with a mouthful of bubbles which burned his throat but luckily the feeling disappeared pretty quickly. Geoff staggered across the yard to his mates side. He crouched and planted one hand on Gavin’s shoulder, he must have said something because seconds later Gavin was shaking his head and moaning out ‘no, no, no.” 

But evidently yes, yes, yes was the answer and Geoff quickly lifted the drunken Brit to his feet, dragging him gracelessly across the grass and past Michael. 

“Michael!” Gavin greeted as he passed, his drunken slurring butchering Michael’s name even more than usual. “When did you get here, my boy?” he asked but didn’t take an answer, instead he clapped both hands over his mouth, made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and tore out of Geoff’s grip.

“Ryan! Incoming!” Geoff warned into the household, waiting for a few seconds until he heard thudding and saw a blur in the form of Ryan taking off after the Alpha before pulling his attention back to the mate at his feet. 

Geoff looked at the bottle in Michael’s hand, noting the very little liquid left inside and gave Michael a daring look. In response, Michael downed the rest and smacked his lips again with a thirst quenched _ahh!_

“I can handle my drink,” he assured, reaching across the porch for another. The cooler had plenty nestled amongst the ice. 

Geoff hummed, “We’ll see.” 

\---  
Geoff, as expected, packed them away like they were water, downing bottle after bottle as if they were nothing, and in response Michael did the same. 

After a while it almost became a race, who can down the bottle first, who can open the next one faster, who can feel the headrush of ‘definitely drunk’ first. 

But Geoff had a significant head start on his younger mate and reached that point a couple of bottles before Michael - even on his empty stomach - could get the fuzz to completely settle over his brain, laughing out a sound of victory and cheering into the darkness of the street with triumph. 

“Yeah yeah, be proud of yourself you alcoholic bastard,” Michael slurred. He shoved Geoff’s shoulder and the Alpha all but fell sideways. “At least I’m still standing.” 

“You’re sitting,” Geoff giggled, swinging his arm which only succeeded in sloshing a gulp of bubbly liquid into Michael’s lap. 

“ _Geoff_!” Michael leaped up, brushing uselessly at the damp spot on his jeans. 

Geoff full-body laughed, chest rumbling with the force, “ _Now_ you’re standing!” 

Michael’s head was clouded with the alcohol but he knew his pants were uncomfortable and...wet. Definitely wet, and in the most inconvenient place making it look way too much like he had...well, like he had had a little accident. He laughed, plucking at the fabric while he swayed just a little with the headrush of leaping up so fast. 

“Just take them off!” Geoff suggested with a childish giggle. 

With wide eyes, Michael barely managed to bat away the Alpha’s hands as they landed on his hips and tugged at the heavy fabric, trying to do the job for his mate and rid him of the offending article of clothing. 

“Geoff, _Geoff_ , stop,” he insisted halfheartedly, but he couldn’t bring anything past general drunken humor into his words. 

Geoff grinned, tilting his head and batting his eyelashes, “ _Pleeease_ ,” he almost fell over again as the effort of holding up his heavy head became too much but just about managed to keep himself up with sheer will power. 

Rolling his eyes, Michael peeled the damp jeans from his legs and kicked them away off the porch, where they landed in a heap at the base of the steps. Noticing that the beer had seeped through into his boxers he fixed a hungry-eyed Geoff with a sly grin. 

“ _No._ ”

Geoff only laughed along with him, a shuddering laugh, all teeth and gums before he was yanking Michael so hard by the hem of his shirt that he lost balance and ended up, unexpectedly, right in Geoff’s lap. 

“You, my boy, are a spoil sport,” Geoff crooned, nuzzling his nose into the hollow of Michael’s neck. He shivered. 

“Yeah, and you’re a pervy old man.” 

Geoff attempted to slap his hand onto his chest in offense but, considering he had a lap full of mate, he didn’t have much success only managing to collide his palm with Michael’s shoulder. He carried on regardless, like he hadn’t even noticed. “I resent that accusation.” 

“You’re practically molesting me right now,” Michael pointed out. Gradually, Geoff’s hand had been creeping closer to his crotch, resting on Michael’s inner thigh, thumb moving in gentle patterns over the bare skin. 

He didn’t know if it was something in his body chemistry or the alcohol artificially tainting his senses but he didn’t mind, didn’t even flinch or jump in surprise when Geoff’s flat palm reached up, pressing flush against Michael’s cock through the fabric of his boxers. 

“ _Geoff_ ,” Michael breathed, choking up, and that was Geoff gone. 

A flash of red shot across his iris’s, a rumbling growl sounding from deep within his throat. Michael gasped as he was tugged and pulled until his back was against the wooden panels of the porch, the ridges and grooves dug into his spine but he didn’t care because Geoff’s lips were on his, his body warm and firm across Michael’s. 

He felt like he had waited his whole life for it, to feel the overwhelming sense of closeness and...lust. Like all that time had culminated in this moment, this delicious moment and MIchael fell into it with every fibre of his being humming, singing praises through the night air. Geoff’s hips shifted, the friction it caused between them more than anything Michael had felt before. 

Michael panted in between long, rough kisses with clashing teeth and noses bumping. He was dizzy with the scent of his mate, his Alpha, and every inhibition he could have ever had running through his blood boiled away into nothing in the heat of the moment. 

Geoff growled, pinning Michael’s hands above his head in a bruising grip, his knee tucking up between Michael’s thighs, pressing _ever so lightly_ on his sensitive crotch. Michael head was humming, filled with the scent of his Alpha and the pressure of the air - thick and cloying like tar - crushing his lungs, making him gasp and pant like a dog in heat. 

The scruff of Geoff’s neck was pinched suddenly and he yelped, quickly allowing it to develop into a deep growl until he saw who had grabbed him and flopped sideways, off Michael with his back on the wooden panels. He panted, as did Michael, the music still singing through their nerves, their blood, flooding their heads with a sweet cloud of something...something else. 

“What the fuck, Jack?”

Jack shook his head at Geoff’s pathetic attempt to be threatening in his dishevelled state, “You’re drunk. You are not doing this while you are drunk.” 

“ _Jaaack_ ,” Michael whined, pouting pathetically from the ground. He’d at least tried to raise himself up onto his elbows. 

The Beta watching over them tutted, taking in Michael’s unkempt appearance and the matching tents in their shorts. He regarded Michael, “You’re ridiculous, and _you_ will regret it tomorrow,” he said, looking at Geoff again. 

The Alpha grumbled, eyes flashing but barely noticeably. 

“Both of you will,” Jack insisted. 

Geoff grumbled again, running his tongue over his lips but held out his hands for Jack to help him up with a mumbled, “Fine.”

“One day,” he promised, wiggling his eyebrows cheekily in Michael’s direction, sending the drunken young man into giggles. 

The alcohol was really settling in all the way as Jack herded Geoff inside and came back for him. 

“You’re going to regret this in the morning,” Jack said, gesturing to the pile of bottles on the ground and the few scattered across the yard. 

Michael shook his head firmly, pretty much cracking his neck with every turn, “I don’t get hungover,” he informed his mate proudly, pointing to himself with his thumbs which sloshed beer, from his own bottle this time, all over his chest. “Good genes,” he carried on without acknowledging the drips of fizzy liquid running down his legs and chest. 

“Yeah yeah,” Jack said, pulling Michael up with arms under his, “We’ll see how far that gets you.” 

Michael scoffed and allowed himself to be dragged in. His clothes ended up in the wash basket under the stairs, new ones replacing them before he was pushed unceremoniously to lie between Geoff and Gavin, the other two drunks sleeping off their alcohol intake. 

He kissed Geoff, he kissed Geoff like _kiss_ kissing. He didn’t even explain the childish giggle he pressed against Geoff’s shoulder as Jack left the room. He might as well be a giddy schoolboy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish Ray all the best in the future, but he has another thing coming if he thinks that gets him out of fanfiction :P


	9. Chapter 9

"Oh god."

Michael groaned painfully, stumbling dizzily away from the bedroom to the bathroom opposite. His stomach was churning, like a tossing sea threatening to throw everything overboard, and overboard was Michael’s throat. Light streamed in from the window at the end of the hallway. He winced. 

Thrusting the door open with shaking hands he expected to collapse against the toilet, get everything out immediately but the door hit something and someone grunted and Michael wasn’t alone in the bathroom. 

Geoff. Hugging the toilet like his life depended on it, knuckles white as they clenched the porcelain rim, he gave a lazy, half assed grin as Michael staggered in, bracing himself on the counter. 

“You too, huh,” he wretched around his words and leaned over the brim, coughing wetly. 

Michael shook his head, immediately regretting it as the motion sent his brain crashing against his skull and the world tilted unpleasantly. 

“No,” he said, “I don’t get hungover.” 

The effort was futile because the sea turned again, and no amount of holding on could stop the ungodly escape of the cabin crew. He didn’t move Geoff, he puked in the sink instead, splattering the porcelain and the countertop with a vile mix of bile and alcohol watered down to a stream of vomit that lasted too long for Michael’s liking. 

“How’s that working out for you?” Geoff commented dryly from behind, but the words went straight through the filter of ringing in Michael’s ears and turned into dust before he could process it. Didn’t stop him hearing the telltale sound of Geoff’s stomach rebelling too. 

In Michaels opinion, throwing up was one of the worst experiences his body could go through. He was sure there would be other, more disastrous experiences but in that moment, with his head stuck over the sink, stomach clenching and tightening like someone had it in their fist and was determined to squeeze the life out of it, he couldn't care less. 

Eventually, once the disgusting harmonic sounds of two men emptying their stomachs ended and the pressure building up behind his eyes lessened just enough to see again, Michael felt his knees weaken and shake. He would have easily fallen if hands hadn’t planted themselves under his armpits and held him upright with ridiculous strength. 

“So, what were you saying?” It was Jack, and he sounded too fucking smug. “How you don’t get hungover? Good genes I think you said.” 

"Shut up, Jack." Michael croaked, he tried to swat him weakly but there was no strength left in his arms, or his head and he fell completely into Jack’s hold. He felt the man readjust him slightly but he just wanted to go back to sleep and wake up in a week when the storm had passed. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll berate you later,” Jack conceded. “Think you’re gonna puke again?” 

Michael thought about it, but his stomach had seemed to have settled and everyone had vacated the boat so he figured he would be safe for the moment and shook his head. 

“Good.”

But when he moved, that was a whole other story. Jack pulled him away from the counter and suddenly there was no stability under his hands as well as his feet, the floor wavered and shifted like a not so fun-house room. He tried to catch himself, tried very hard to stop the quick descent to the floor but he couldn’t hear around the sudden roaring in his ears and his vision was spotty, stars bursting over the darkening walls. 

Jack spun him around and braced his back against the counter, “Whoa, Whoa, you okay?” 

“I...I’m not sure,” Michael said. Jack frowned. 

“Okay, let’s get you back to bed before you pass out,” he started readjusting again. “Geoff, come help me.”

Geoff whined - a pathetic noise not fit for a regular Alpha - but his mate was having none of it. 

“You can stand without falling over and you have color in your cheeks, you’re fucking fine, _help me_ ,” his tone was pleading and Michael barely managed to sway dizzily before one of his arms was pulled gently over Jack’s shoulder and the other over Geoffs, walking at a snails pace from the bathroom. 

Gavin was in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and flicking through pages on his phone. He jumped up as the three entered, obviously not keying into Michael’s disgraceful appearance at all. 

"What's that smell?" Gavin asked rather loudly, though whatever was invading his senses couldn't have been unpleasant since he didn't seem to be moving away from whatever it was. He sniffed the air again, narrowing his eyes towards the three of them.

Geoff shushed him harshly, "I can't smell anything other than my own stomach lining, Gav,” they shuffled towards the bed, “Go away, let us die in peace.” 

Jack rolled his eyes at his mates dramatics but nudged Gavin into following orders before depositing the sickly Michael down onto the sheets. Geoff shuffled in beside him. 

Being upright had been horrible, but being vertical wasn’t much better. It was only with a stack of pillows holding him relatively elevated and his body curled up into a fetal position with sheets pulled tightly up to his chin that he could even begin to feel comfortable. 

Stabbing between his eyes and his twisting gut made it difficult but Geoff curled up against his back and spooned him gently, warm breath brushing over his neck and it calmed him. 

He could taste vomit on his teeth when he ran his tongue over them but somehow he still managed to drift off into sleep, grateful when the other two left with nothing more than a whispered, ‘sleep well’ and door clicking shut so softly he barely even heard it. 

 

\---

Thankfully his stomach was no longer trying to escape his body when he next woke up. Not so thankfully, his head was pounding and everything ached so badly that even lifting his head felt like a monumental task. His muscles, especially those in his upper arms and shoulders, stung fiercely as if some sort of creature had been nibbling away at them. 

It quickly became apparent that he was alone in the bed, he’d spread himself across the whole space, sprawled out in his sleeping state but his body definitely didn’t approve of the position. 

Waking up the first time had been a blur, he could barely recall leaving the bed and the godawful state he worked himself into but he was sure he remembered Geoff climbing into the bed with him. Time had gone haywire, warping while his head tried to connect the dots about when it was, what _day_ it was and whether earlier had just been an illusion. 

He was just starting to question his memory when the door creaked open and Geoff’s blurred figure appeared in the doorway. He smiled. 

“Hey buddy, finally awake I see,” he crawled onto the bed, nudging Michael forward with his knee so he could slot in behind him, leaning in to place a soft kiss against his neck. 

“You’re warm,” he noted with a frown. 

Michael groaned - it was all he could do - and tried to turn over but his whole vision whited out for a second and he felt like he could fall over even if he was lying down, “Jus’ kill me now, jus’ leave me here t’ die.” 

“You not feeling any better?” 

“I feel like someone had a go at my brain with a pickaxe,” was that his voice? He didn’t recognise it. 

“You youths are supposed to bounce back from hangovers easier than us old timers,” Geoff joked, but there was a definite undercurrent of concern bleeding through. 

“Not a hang’ver,” Michael croaked pitifully before shutting his mouth and deciding that he’d wait a while before talking again. Even the vibrations of his vocal chords hurt. 

Geoff was silent for a while, fingers drumming against Michael’s back in a steady rhythm, until Michael almost fell asleep again.

Geoff tutted just as Michael dropped off the earth, shuffling onto his knees while simultaneously placing his hands on Michael’s back and moving him, “Let me sit you up.” 

The earth didn’t shift kindly and Michael’s head lolled onto his shoulders. 

“You w‘re sick too,” _stop talking, dumbass._

Geoff shook his head, propping Michael up on a stack of pillows, “Hangover, it’s gone. You’re definitely not hungover,” he said simply. 

Rather than try and push it - not that he could if he tried - Michael allowed himself to be manipulated into a position that he would definitely say felt a hell of a lot better. His throbbing muscles thanked him and his head cleared just that little bit. 

Without the sheets covering him he felt a shiver run through him like a wave, his shirt which was clinging to him with damp sweat cooled in seconds and only made the shivering worse. 

“It could be the flu,” Geoff mused to himself while he busied himself with feeling Michael’s forehead again and massaging the sore muscles of his arms. “Human’s get the flu still right?” 

Michael didn’t question the unusual statement and only hummed, blinking against the blurriness in his vision. He wanted to sleep again, that was all he wanted, a nice long sleep until all of this was over. 

“You feel warm,” Geoff repeated, his rough, but soothingly cool hands lingering on Michael’s skin. “You feel _really_ warm.” 

His brow furrowed and he scrambled off the bed, shooting out of the door like a rocket. Michael cringed in discomfort as the bed shifted and rocked, his body too weak to hold steady and he was forced to moved with it. Closing his eyes helped a little. It stopped him from feeling as if he were swaying. 

Geoff darted around the door with a thermometer, one of those ones designed for children that he only had to run across Michael’s forehead. He studied the readings closely before pulling away with a sharp gasp.

Geoff looked flustered, and a flustered Alpha was never good, “105, that’s not normal right? I think that’s- let me get Ryan.” 

Ryan himself didn’t seem that perturbed by the knowledge that his newest mate was suffering through a fever that, by all accounts, was dangerously high. Instead he ignored his Alpha - who hovered nervously behind - and tucked one arm under Michael’s back, the other one curling under his knees and lifted him easily, stating that they were going to go downstairs. 

“I can walk,” Michael protested, flushing darker underneath the fever redness. 

“Not right now you can’t,” Ryan fired back, but after few paces of weak wriggling the Beta dropped him down with a sigh, shooting him a pointed look when he immediately staggered sideways into the wall. 

Michael gratefully took Geoff’s offer of being a personal crutch as he stepped up, wrapping one arm around Michael’s shoulder and the other around his waist. Every step was hell, feeling like he was a broken toy that would fall apart at any second; arms, legs, head scattering like legos, but he pushed past it, pushed past the pain and aching because he was _not_ going to be carried while he was still conscious. 

\---

He was worn out before his foot hit the last step of the stairs, sagging against Geoff like every ounce of energy had been sapped out of him. Gratefully his Alpha had the strength the keep him standing, his muscles hardening just enough for Michael to feel it through the arm around his waist. 

Ray and Gavin were in the living room, watching the TV screen with immense concentration, enough that neither of them looked up until Michael let out a pained groan. His headache was steadily building, with barely enough strength in reserves to hold up his head up he thanked Geoff for every second that he remained standing. But he really wanted to sit. 

“Are you dying?” Ray asked bluntly, his face half hidden by the controller he had tucked under his nose. 

Michael smiled, albeit weakly, and shrugged, “Might be,” he croaked and, really, he should definitely shut his fucking trap because his throat felt like he’d swallowed a thousand razorblades and washed them down with a glass of sand. 

It wasn't hard to see that he was deterioration rapidly as he dropped out of Geoff's grasp and weakly staggered in a zigzag pattern to his destination. 

Of all people Michael found himself seeking comfort in Gavin. He ignored the indignant cry as he interrupted the Brits game time and curled up in his lap, soothing his burning head against Gavins chest. Although the chest he leaned against was just as warm and by all counts should make his fever worse, instead he felt himself cooling and relaxing and almost drifting off as his gut started to unclench and the pain in his head lessened. 

He met Gavin’s smile as the Brit began carding his fingers through MIchael’s sweat-dampened curls and caught the hint of a frown that washed across his lips. Something cold touched his forehead and he flinched before sighing in relief, thanking Geoff with his eyes who was gently pressing on the ice pack that had been laid across his heated skin. 

“You okay, boi?” Gavin whispered. Boi, next to buddy had quickly become Michael’s favorite pet name and they knew it. 

Michael tried to nod but the ice pack dislodged and hit his nose and it felt like a sign to quit lying about such menial things. Instead he shook his head once as Gavin replaced the cold sheet. 

Gavin’s eyes softened and he dropped the controller off to the side of the couch, his arms wrapped around Michael’s torso like a cocoon and held him close, “You can sleep,” he said, “I’ll take care of you.” 

Alpha instincts or maybe just love, Michael didn’t know, but he took the offer like a bee to honey and closed his eyes, nuzzling his face against Gavins tummy as he drew back into sleep and the twisted fever dreams that awaited him. 

\---

Once Michael had once again drifted off Ryan gestured to the adjoining room, Ray and Geoff followed, leaving Gavin to continue his gentle movements over Michael’s hair. 

“I was sick like this once, remember?” Ryan said lowly once he was sure the man was out and unhearing. 

Ray nodded, “Me too.”

“Just once though.”

Ray nodded again. Geoff looked between them, darting his eyes over to Michael before they widened and he swallowed. 

“You think he’s…” doubt colored his voice. 

“You’ve never seen this before,” Ryan pointed out.

“I never got sick like this.”

Ryan paused before answering. He chewed over the words, moving his lips as he tried to form the right response. 

In the end he decided on, “He’s different and you know it.” 

Geoff nodded, “And you’re sure?”

“Ninety nine percent,” Ryan said, pausing before adding, “it could be the flu.” 

“Could be the flu,” Geoff repeated. 

“If it is he needs a hospital because that kind of fever is definitely not good, but if I am right...” he broke off and fixed Geoff with a submissive look, shoulders bowed and eyes cast down. “It’s your call.” 

A hospital. Geoff hadn’t been to a hospital in a long time, to put a number on it close to twenty five years. Wolves weren’t known for needing medical attention often, and it generally played out that they could take care of their own. 

But if it wasn’t the flu, if it turned out to be… they’d never take him.

Geoff drummed his fingers on his thigh and sighed. 

“Go sit down, I’m gonna get him another ice pack.” 

\---

It was with nervous apprehension that the five mates spent the rest of the day. For a long time Michael just slept, deep even breathing and calm rising and falling of his chest. But later on, into the afternoon once Gavin had managed to maneuver himself off the couch leaving the lad to cushion his own head with the cushions, things stopped being so calm. 

His breathing was the first thing to change. Deep breaths turning shallow and gasping, there was no wetness to the sound but that was little consolation when they realised the breaths were caused by pain. Because the next things were whimpers and whines that accompanied a furrowed brow and snarling lips. 

He was pale, sickly yellow with circles like bruises underneath his eyes and so damp with sweat he could have been mistaken for a drowning victim. 

But they didn’t leave. Even when his fever reached a violent hundred and ten Ray just stood up silently and replaced the ice pack with another, praying for Michael to just open his eyes and stop scaring them. 

Geoff did consider taking him to the hospital then, doubting his decision, afraid he’d made the wrong one. Michael was frying alive with a fever that high, he looked like he was dying and it was _terrifying_. But his mates wrapped him up in their embrace, crushed onto one couch across from Michael, where they could see every stuttered rise and fall of his chest and every pulse of blood in his neck as it boiled. 

The one saving grace was the unconscious state Michael remained in. He didn’t wake once through the whole ordeal and none of the others had ever been as grateful for anything as they were for that fact. Of course they couldn’t see the hell going on behind his eyes, but how would they know. 

_It felt very much like drowning. Drowning in blood and in fear as if it were tangible to choke on and breathe in. In intervals of barely seconds his body would jump from solid ice to scorching fire, hovering in between in a violent limbo that tossed him and turned him like a stuck pig._

Seconds ticked by like they were being dragged backwards through molasses. 

_Here he didn’t have a name. Here he didn’t have an identity. He was nothing and nothing became him, he could barely recall if he was human._

Once seconds turned to minutes and then to hours, Ryan stood up and crossed the room to hold him. Discomfort played on his face, whether from the heat or the damp sweat soaking through Michael’s clothes and onto his, they didn’t know. But one look said it was neither. 

_He could feel fear but it wasn’t solely his. It seeped in from above and below, surrounding him in a cloud of ash and suffocation dust. ___

__“I can feel him,” Geoff whispered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear but Gavin, who was the closest with his face pressed into the other Alpha’s shoulder._ _

__“Me too,” he replied softly._ _

__It was the most they had said in hours and it only vaguely made sense._ _

___Light, up ahead through the tortuous darkness. Blinding, bright, white as it could be and it drew him in like a moth to a flame he was nothing and everything as he floated closer until all he could see was white. All he could feel was nothing._ _ _

__The collective sigh of immeasurable relief could probably have been heard down the street when Jack announced that the fever had broken. Still a solid 108 at the last use of the thermometer but that was a steady decline from earlier, enough for them to know, he was over the worst of it._ _

__\---_ _

__He felt awful._ _

__He felt like he’d been struck by lightning, run over by a truck, been sent to float face down in a river for a week before being crushed by some form of steamroller...twice._ _

__His head had been split in two, crudely stuck back together with tape and thick glue because he couldn’t _think_ or _feel_ anything beyond fucking _ouch.__ _

__His unhappy groan drew the attention of the Beta sitting in the corner and Jack was quick to jump into his line of vision._ _

__“You’re awake, oh thank fuck,” Jack looked weary, worn out like the frown lines had been embedded into his skin too quickly, “How do you feel?”_ _

__Michael opened his mouth to repeat back the first thoughts he’d had upon waking but the words caught in his throat. Every second that passed dropped away a tiny bit of pain like grains of sand. He still felt rough as fuck of course, but the majority of the sharp waves of agony - especially in his head - had dissipated._ _

__“Better,” he concluded, unsurprised to find his voice resembled a weak frog._ _

__The creases across Jack’s forehead didn’t lessen but he smiled and it looked a lot better on his face than the frown._ _

__Jack was quickly replaced with Ryan, who was followed by Geoff and then the other three followed behind until everyone was staring down at him like he was some sort of circus attraction. There was something in the air, an uneasiness that Michael couldn’t easily place._ _

__Ray was the first to speak, “Glad you didn’t croak,” he joked, letting out a breathy laugh before dragging Gavin towards and out of the door. Michael watched them leave in confusion, it was obvious they had just come in to see him, but it wasn’t obvious why._ _

__And then Geoff said the four worst words in the English language, “We need to talk.”_ _

__\---_ _

__The room vacated quickly, almost in the blink of an eye and Michael and Geoff were left alone._ _

__Geoff was hovering, uncertain as he approached the bed and settled down on the end, one hand resting on the sheets just below Michael’s. He took it._ _

__“What’s wrong, Geoff?”_ _

__Geoff took a deep breath, making sure he had appropriate eye contact before saying, “You’re presenting.”_ _

__Michael’s eyes widened._ _

__“I’m-” he cut himself off, lifting up onto his elbows before attempting to sit up a little straighter. “You’re sure?”_ _

__Geoff nodded, “Pretty certain, considering your brain didn’t shut down and melt twenty degrees over a regular fever.”_ _

__“Do you know which? Of the three?” he asked apprehensively, the shock numbing his reactions to the news._ _

__“Two, out of the two.”_ _

__“Two?”_ _

__“Beta or Omega, Alpha’s don’t get sick like this,” Geoff said it so easily, but it struck Michael in the face like a cold bucket of water. He pulled back the covers and sat up, grateful for the feeling that flooded back to his extremities just in time to support him._ _

__“W-what? Alpha’s don’t…”he faded off and took Geoff’s silence as a ‘don’t bother finishing that thought.’_ _

__“So uh, so Beta or-or Omega,” Michael said, turning the thought over, surprised by the softness and weakness in his voice, like the words didn’t want to leave him._ _

__Geoff nodded, “Yeah, one of the two.”_ _

__“And you can’t tell which?”_ _

__Geoff hesitated._ _

__The door swung open and Gavin was there, stood in the hallway with the other’s growling at him angrily._ _

__“You’re gonna be like Ray, I can smell it,” he said, grinning._ _

__“Gavin,” Geoff began cautiously. He needed to get a reign on his mate before he said anything else, approaching Michael like this was the worst way to do it._ _

__“I figured it out,” he continued, disregarding Geoff in favor of tracking Michael’s reaction. “I wasn’t there for Ray’s presenting so I’ve never smelled it. But it’s definitely that, there’s something about it that just...sends me wild! I just know it’s a fresh Omega scent.”_ _

__Geoff could easily have slapped himself when Gavin first told them what he thought. Of course, he hadn’t even _considered_ that he could smell it. He should have, but he’d been so confused, so frozen with fear he hadn’t even put a seconds thought into the signs, unlike Gavin. But they had all agreed to break it to him slowly. _ _

__No one could be sure exactly, but they all remembered the lad’s outburst when he first arrived, his conflict with Ray. Omega wouldn’t be good news for him, they could accept that without knowing why. Or at least they _thought_ they could. Gavin felt differently. _ _

__Michael stared, stunned. “Omega,” the word felt wrong, like it didn’t fit in the space between his tongue and his teeth._ _

__“I know you said you didn’t necessarily want-” Geoff began before cutting himself off and trying again, “I’ll get Ray, he can talk you through it.”_ _

__But Michael didn’t want to talk to Ray. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He processed the information like digesting a rock, it blocked off everything, every feeling and sense stuck to this one thought rushing through his head at the speed of light and sound and…_ _

__And Michael did the only one thing he could think of. He ran._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The monster is back. I hope you liked that :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back!!!! I'm sorry for the wait, but inspiration has crept back in recently so here I am with the wolf boys all over again!
> 
> For observant people yes, chapter 10 already happened, yes I took it down--no it's not the same. Different ending, something to channel the fic in a different direction than it was going before. I hope you guys can forgive me for taking so long, and I _really_ hope you like the new ending!

He was over the whole Alpha thing, so over it that he didn’t even think about it anymore.

Then why was he running like a bat out of hell through unknown greenlands to get away from the truth that had been creeping up on him forever.

Because he was scared.

He’d known the outcome since the beginning. Everything had always pointed straight towards it, and if he thought back far enough, he was sure he could pinpoint one hundred moments and instances where it had been even more obvious than ever. But denial was a complicated thing.

His head thudded as if the headache had never gone away, violently stabbing like a screwdriver into his delicate grey matter, but he kept on running. His sense of direction had been dropped some steps back, lost in the undergrowth for the animals to find. A stray branch cut across his path and he leapt over it faster than he could process it’s existence, the surprise made him falter only slightly, pushing him off track just enough to catch his arm on the spiked tips of a cluster of bushes. Blood pooled and dripped down his upper arm.

“Stop!”

Geoff was approaching from behind. He’d catch up with Michael long before he could get away but his legs wouldn’t stop moving, they kept pushing him harder and harder and Michael was extremely surprised to find that he wasn’t tiring as fast as he normally would. It was then he noticed just how  _fast_  he was running. The tree’s passed him by in blurs, whizzing to the sides of his line of sight

He might be able to keep up the chase for a little longer than anticipated.

“Just stop! Stop running!”

He wanted to obey Geoff’s wishes, he needed to obey his Alpha but he couldn’t stop running. If he stopped running he would have to think, he’d have to let  _everything_  catch up to him, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that. Running was easy, running was constant movement with solid ground under his feet and a burn in his lungs that felt comfortable there, something to anchor everything to.

Without it, he’d lose his mind. He was sure of that.  

He stumbled as the first waves of pushing himself too far began to seep through. It could be argued that he was still sick, his body not completely over the horrible ordeal of presenting and more than likely wasn’t performing at it’s best. But it was better than he’d ever been before.

"Michael  _stop_." the words were growled with such ferocity and in such a way that struck a chord inside Michael that didn't want to be played and he froze, his whole body going stiff and he couldn't even stop himself from crashing face first into the grass. The momentum he had built up meant his chin skidded through the dirt, gathering clumps of dry soil between his teeth as the grass stained his clothes.

A curse and thudding footsteps behind him signalled Geoff's approach.

"Fuck, buddy, I said stop, not collapse."

“Same thing,” Michael mumbled, spitting out a mouth full of grass and dirt.

Sweat began to cool on the back of his neck, dripping down in icy rivulets as Geoff’s hand landed flat on the base of his spine.

Geoff sighed, “That was dramatic.”

Michael didn’t answer, choosing instead to stay still, panting into the ground, chewing over the soil before spitting it out in globs.

Geoff laughed, “Nice.”

“Shut up,” Michael groaned back.

“The speed’s nice isn’t it,” Geoff quipped, taking a handful of Michael’s shirt to pull him away from the dirt.

Huffing, Michael swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, “Until you hit the floor,” he commented, spitting again.

“Don’t hit the floor next time.”

“Don’t do the Alpha growl next time!” Michael shot back with an edge to his voice that Geoff didn’t take kindly to. He bristled, using his energy to force down the wolf inside him that fought to rear its head. Michael was new, he may be an Omega now but he was still new to it, he’d learn.

“I’ll let that one slide this time because I know it’s been a hard day, but you’re my Omega now, keep your attitude in check.”

Michael barked out a laugh, “Because you’re such a firm hand,” he drawled sarcastically.  

Geoff’s eyes flashed red, he clenched his teeth and Michael’s smile faltered, “It’s called respect. Get some.”

The Alpha sighed, eyes softening as he watched Michael drop his head into his hands; the heels of his palms digging into his eyes.

“Your instincts are telling you to listen to me,” he said quietly, “you don’t want to, I get it, but it’s gonna be a hell of a lot easier in the long run if you follow them.”

He touched the blood dried up on Michael’s arm, running his finger through the clotted red, scratching away the flakes that crumbled easily and fell to the ground.

“A little sluggish but your healing’s coming through,” he noted, pulling the attention back to sympathy.  Michael breathed out for several seconds as if trying to expel every inch of dead air from his lungs before refilling them with fresh, new oxygen. It made him feel a little better.

“Too bad it’s not in time for this,” Michael grumbled, holding up his torn arm. The scar had pinked now, healed but still raw, dried up and waxy. The crevices had lessened but the skin had tightened over the wound.

Geoff shrugged, “It’ll get better.”

“Will it?” Michael replied doubtfully. Geoff wouldn’t meet his eye. “I’ve seen wolves with scars,” Michael noted, running his fingers across the skin. It was soft, fresh and new, he hated it.

“I’m trying to be supportive.”

“You’re trying alright,” Michael mumbled, catching Geoff’s frustrated look out of the corner of his eye and relenting. “Yeah yeah, respect, I got it.”

Geoff sat back on his heels and regarded Michael, “You wanna get up now?”

The omega looked around. He hadn’t even registered that they were both still sitting on the filthy ground, but now that his sweat had started to dry up, he could feel the moisture from the soil where it had soaked into his pants making the position uncomfortable.

He nodded.

Geoff, pleased it seemed to be getting off the floor, jumped to his feet and held out both hands to help Michael up too. He wavered a little with exhaustion and the lingering effects of sickness but they weren’t standing for long; Geoff guided him over to a ragged stump and pushed him down onto it.   

“Why did you run, Michael?” Geoff asked softly after a few moments of silence.

Michael hugged his arms around himself and looked away, whispering, “Omega.”

Geoff waited for him to elaborate, fidgeting his fingers restlessly.

“I should be an Alpha.”

Geoff chuckled, “Being an Alpha isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know,” he tried, attempting to lighten the mood but the smile that cracked Michael’s lips wasn’t genuine, barely even dimpling his cheeks in that adorable way he was used to. He wiped the smile off his own face too.

“No-it’s not…” Michael paused, shaking his head so roughly Geoff swore he could shake hairs loose, “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t everything.”

Michael stood up and grunted, a low noise in his throat that registered only frustration. If he hadn’t managed to agitate his hair follicles with the hair shaking then he definitely did with the rough pulling he put it through only moments later.

Geoff’s Alpha instincts wanted him to stand up and take Michael into his arms, to stop him from hurting himself with his internal struggle; but his personal knowledge of his mate kept him grounded, knowing it’d be better to let him work through whatever was going on in his head for the moment.

He sat down, stood up, pulled his hair, clenched his fists, sat down again - and all without making a noise beyond grunts, wheezes and angry, half-started words.

“I don’t even know why I care,” Michael admitted after sitting down for the last time and staying down. His hairline was violently red and Geoff felt a twinge of sympathy for him, "none of it matters anymore, none of it, and I don’t even know if it mattered to start with."

Geoff just sat back and watched him, keeping his mouth shut for the questions so Michael could continue his scrambled train of thought.

“My mom never liked me,” his sudden change of subject startled the alpha. “Even before all this not presenting shit, she never thought I was worth the effort. I think I agreed with her.”

“I tried to be like my brother,” he said it almost as if he were begging Geoff to believe him, partly like he was trying to convince himself, too. “He was the model Alpha child, always rough and ready for a fight, there was never any doubt with him.”

Geoff waited.

“I think everyone thought I was gonna be human. Mom even gave me a fucking ultimatum. Present or get the fuck out of her life.”

Geoff frowned, his hand finding Michael’s in the space between them. He was finely shaking.

“Lindsay says she doesn’t want me back, my Mom I mean. She didn’t even wait to hear if I changed.”

“Your Mom’s an Alpha,” Geoff concluded, it had been obvious from the beginning but maybe Michael would benefit from him stating it without question.

Michael nodded once, “Mom’s an Alpha; Dad, Brother, both Alphas. So are my grandparents and so were my great grandparents and my great great grandparents and-”

“Your great great  _great_  grandparents?” Geoff offered up, receiving a curt nod from his mate.

Michael sighed deeply and leaned over his knees, running his hands firmly through his hair, scrubbing his scalp and the dust and dirt there. Looking at him, Geoff felt lost.

“What can I do to help you, Michael?”

The Omega let out a slow breath and dug his heels into the soft ground at his feet.

“Can I get some time alone?” He said at last. Quietly, and full of unsurety.

Geoff seemed hesitant at first, peering through the trees like he was looking for predators, his protective instincts working overload at the thought of leaving his newly presented Omega outside on his own. But Michael was 21, he wasn’t a kid. So Geoff reluctantly agreed.

“You come back in soon though, okay?”

Michael nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips as one tattooed hand squeezed his shoulder before Geoff was gone, slumping back towards the house with his shoulder dropped low.

\---

He wasn’t entirely sure when ‘soon’ turned into ‘hours later’ but regardless the day continued to pass and Michael stayed out in the yard with the bark of the tree cutting into the back of his legs and the hot Texas sun beating down on the top of his head.

Taking stock of himself had been the first priority once his head had cleared and he had some time to think, alone. All in all he wasn’t finding that he felt much different. There was a little nagging in the back of his head that spent every second attempting to pull him back to the house but it was easily ignored, the lingering effects of the fever had passed a little while ago and his own internal strength doubled over like there was electricity in his muscles.

The slice on his arm was completely gone, under the flaking blood there was only pink skin, not even a hint of a scar and, as the day went on, even the waxy bite on his arm was starting to look a little less pink, a little more like he’d spent 10 years with it and not a handful of weeks.

But, more importantly, Michael felt more... _whole._ As if he had found a piece of a puzzle he hadn’t even realised he was trying to finish.

He was surprised it took as long as it did before he heard the telltale bouncing footsteps - and fuck if they didn’t sound crisper than ever to his ears - of the approaching lesser Alpha.

 

“You look better when you’re not dying.”

Michael looked up and scoffed, “Gee thanks, Gav, what a compliment.”

The stump beside him was quickly taken over by the Brit who kicked his legs up so they were resting on Michael’s knees as if he were a human footstool – not human, not anymore, something similar – the position didn’t look remotely comfortable.

“When you coming back inside?”

Michael shrugged, “In my own time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pronounced ‘what’ wrong and it grated on Michael’s senses.

“It means in my own time, Gavin.”

“Jack’s beside himself,” the Brit informed him, arms folded across his chest as he yanked his feet back down and studied Michael like prey.

“Jack’s Jack,” Michael replied. “He’s always beside himself.”

Gavin kicked him. Leg out, in the shin  _kicked_  him. Michael growled, the sound foreign in his throat. It sounded something along the same lines as Geoff’s had but there was no...authority behind it, it was bland and weak and it didn’t make Gavin move at all.

“What the fuck, Gavin?” he hissed at the same time as he dug his nails into the bark of the stump, his knuckles must be white but that was better than bloody from slamming it right into his mates face.

Gavin didn’t even flinch, “What’s your problem?”

“Problem? I don’t have a fucking problem,” Michael spat. They were both standing now, Michael rising as he spoke. Gavin towered, even with his slight frame and unthreatening stance, he still towered over Michael like he was nothing.

“Then why won’t you come inside?”

Michael gritted his teeth, clenching them together tightly and pushing his words through a blockade of self control, “Maybe I just need some time alone? You know, to process? On my  _own_.”

“You’re coming with me,” Gavin growled, wrapping his long fingers around Michael’s wrist and yanking so hard Michael almost lost balance.

He yanked himself back. “Fuck off, Gavin!”

Gavin’s hand had his again.

“Stop being a pissy little pleb and  _obey me._ ” There was something in his tone, something menacing that, coupled with the flash of red that had started to seep into his eyes, was downright terrifying.

Michael shook, partly out of fear, partly the effort to hold back the instincts going haywire inside him, and partly anger directed at Gavin because how  _dare_  he talk to Michael like he was some kind of menial possession.

“You aren’t my Alpha, you don’t get to tell me what to do,” he said lowly. His voice cracked. He was tired again, weakness creeping into his muscles and down to his bones but he couldn’t let Gavin see that.

The younger Alpha looked offended, pulling up short at the sound of the hitch in Michael’s speaking. The Omega was breathing heavily; the wrist that was trapped in Gavin’s grip was shaking and limp.

He wished he had Geoff’s intuition because there were tears in Michael’s eyes and he didn’t want to admit that he had been the one to put them there.

Dropping Michael’s wrist as if it were burning him Gavin jolted back.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered pitifully.

Michael rubbed his wrist, looking at the trees instead of his mate, “Go inside, Gavin.”

The Brit hovered, mouth opening and closing like he had something to say but the words wouldn’t form. It was late afternoon, if Geoff wanted him back in he would come. It had never been Gavin’s job and he certainly fucked it up every time.

He knew a hesitant step forward would be a move too far; he’d crossed a line. Instead the step took him backwards, walking slowly back towards the house with his tail between his legs.

Michael let go of his wrist and dropped back onto the stump.

\---

He wasn’t sure what made him get up and start walking yet there he was a half hour after Gavin walked away, wandering through streets of Austin that all looked the same, getting more and more lost with every step forward.

Somewhere in the back of his head he knows he should have spent some time outside before deciding to take a walk into the backend of nowhere, or at least told someone he was leaving in case something like  _this_ happened. But they would have followed him, watched him, stopped him maybe; and he just needed some time alone to think and to feel, to deal with the hand he'd been dealt.

 _Omega_ , he picked up his feet and walked a little faster.

Past a seemingly abandoned supermarket that looked suspiciously like he had just walked onto the set of a mainstream zombie movie, he saw a group of people huddled close around a trashcan in the parking lot. They were all wrapped up in layers and layers of ratty clothing even in the Texas heat, a fire roaring within the metal confines of the can. Michael was taken aback by the  _smell_ ; the stench, the overwhelming odour that permeated the air almost like a visible cloud, assaulting his newly overworked senses. One glanced up, dark eyes piercing through the distance between them. Michael carried on walking.

He wouldn't call it a chill that danced down his spine. More a freezing shiver that had nothing to do with actual temperature. He still felt bristled by Gavin's attitude, taken aback by how the Brit had addressed him--yet even more surprised at how  _right_ it had felt to have been talked to in that way. Gavin may not be  _his_ Alpha, but he surely was one and Michael's blood craved that voice again as much as his head wanted to hate him for it.

He supposed this was his life now, and it would be until the end of days--following orders, dipping in submission. Not that it would be any different to how he had been at home, but he had been a  _child_ there. Not an adult, not a proper wolf. Surely things should be different now that he had presented, he could be himself; or not himself, rather a better version of himself. Even on his own he still yearned for independence,   still failing to grasp it as it hovered just outside of his reach.

"Stupid fucking genes," he grumbled, kicking the concrete under his feet.

He knew he had to go back. Turn around and trace his steps, maybe he could sniff them out if he tried hard enough. No, his senses weren't practised; he was tired--not happening.

Michael cursed and stared up at the road sign. It meant nothing, why hadn't he thought to check out Austin in the weeks he had been alone in the house? Oh, yes, because he hadn't wanted to get lost.

"Lot of good that did, you fucking moron," he rolled his eyes at the voice in his head and put another foot forward, starting to think about how to get home when a voice cut across his thoughts.

"What have we got here then? A lone little Omega?" The voice alone sent chills down Michael's spine, freezing him in place.

"Boys we have a poor little Omega that needs our help."

They began to circle him, three guys, around Ryan's age probably; all dark hair and thick muscles. The one who spoke first had his claws out, sharp nails delicately caressing the air.

"He smells fresh," one said, leaning in to sniff at Michael from the safety of the circle. "He's new."

Michael shivered, stepping back and only managing to back up into the third one.

"I don't need help and you need to back the fuck up," Michael growled with as much confidence as he could muster up.

The three wolves had the audacity to look impressed, "Oho look at this, the little ones got a mouth on 'im," the first one--clearly the leader, said.

With a single step he brought himself chest to chest with Michael. Though he struggled, with one behind his back and a suddenly bruising grip on his upper arm from the leader, he was powerless to do anything. An arm wound its way around his stomach and he felt a wave of sickness, nerves, and anger all at once.

"Can you back up that mouth of yours?" the leader whispered, dragging a claw down Michael's cheek. On the second pass it slices through his skin and nothing he could do could stop the whimper that crawls up his throat.

"Didn't think so," the hand on his face slides to the back of his neck, claws caressing the skin there.

"When did you present, hmm? Today? Yesterday? Must have been recent," Michael kicked back at the shins of the wolf behind him. His efforts were futile but he wasn't going to give in to whatever these fuckers wanted from him.

"Get the fuck off me," he said viciously, though temporarily surprised, the guy he had hit came back with vengeance, arm tightening painfully onto Michael's ribs.

"Ah ah," the leader protested, his eyes glowing blood red and in the next second his nails are penetrating Michael's soft skin, curling into the tissue beneath and spilling blood down his back.

Michael cried out, back bowing instinctively and whining in pain as the claws dug deeper.

" _Answer me,_ " the Alpha hissed, using his other hand to steady Michael from falling.

"Yesterday!" the Omega gasped, "I presented y-yesterday."

The claws, though relenting slightly, remained inside him, scratching at soft tissue and muscle. He could feel his body trying to heal already, sewing up around the claws only to split back open with every movement.

"So new, so  _fresh_ ," the Alpha hummed, licking his lips-- licking Michael's cheek and the nervous sweat that dampened his cheeks.

"Claimed?" he asked.

Michael nodded and immediately hissed in pain as it pulled at the claws in his neck, "y-yes!" he gasped again, "let go of me-"

" _Liar!"_  The Alpha roared and curled his fingers again so much that Michael could swear he heard nails on  _bone._

He cried out, "I swear! I have m-mates, a p-pack!"

The Alpha laughed; behind him, laughter. All three Alpha's laughing at him and touching him, pawing at him and making him bleed and Michael was powerless, completely defenceless. He'd never felt anything like it before. Such a complete and total feeling of being trapped.

"Oh yeah? And where's that pack now, little boy?" The Alpha purred, his free hand ducking under Michael's shirt and stroking thin lines down his stomach.

" _Right here_."

A yelp and the third Alpha was pulled from view, crashing into the sidewalk with a cry of pain and then Michael's back was open to the air as the man behind him vanished too, followed by a dull crack that echoed. With a sharp tug, the leader's claws left his neck and suddenly Geoff was in front of him, holding the other Alpha by the throat as he struggled and whimpered.

"W-we didn't mean no harm!" he whimpered.

Michael dropped when he was released; adrenaline leaving him in one pop of a bubble that sent him to his knees but he was caught in time to save his knees from hitting the concrete by arms that lowered him the rest of the way more slowly. He flinched until Ray darted in front of him, sweet Ray who looked just as scared as Michael but determination hardened in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, interlocking his fingers with Michael's, cupping the boy’s cheek with his other hand.

"Y-" he choked, swallowing down a sob, "Yes. I'm fine, they didn't do anything." 

"Bollocks to that," the person behind him - Gavin definitely - growled. Michael's hair was shifted aside and gentle fingers probed the marks on the back of his neck. "These are deep, Michael."

Over Ray's shoulder Michael saw a head being detached from a body and he swallowed thickly.

"Doesn't matter now," he said.

Guessing that the other two wolves had made their disappearing act pretty sharpish since Geoff made his next move stopping at Michael's side, the Omega leaned back into Gavin's embrace; the past disagreement completely forgotten as Gavin's lips kissed the skin behind his ear and he sank tiredly into the Alpha's arms.

"What did they do to you?" Geoff asked in a voice anything but calm, his eyes still glowing red in the terrifying way that yanked Michael into his subconscious and he ducked his head.

Gavin shushed him gently as he whimpered in suppressed fear, "Eyes," he scolded Geoff, and the next time Michael looked up the Alpha's eyes were light again, softer, apologetic.

Michael relaxed, breathing steadily and quelling all panic that had built up a wall around his mind. Gavin nuzzled the side of his throat, cuddling Michael to him in a show of support.

"We're literally sitting in the middle of a road," Ray pointed out as the silence wore on, he smiled at Michael, gentle and caring, "I don't feel like getting hit by any cars today."

Michael smiled back and allowed Gavin to pull him up with ease. He staggered as soon as he was on his feet, exhausted, bone tired, ready to fall asleep on the tarmac but he was held up by strong arms.

"Don't make me carry you, boi," Gavin said fondly. He swung Michael's arm around his shoulder but his stance told the Omega that he would have no qualms doing just that if he asked.

"I'd like to see your skinny ass try," Michael mumbled around a smile.

He took a few steps, testing his weight and deciding he could try to walk, though he wasn't sure how long for. There was one thing he needed to know, though, as they made their slow walk home.

"How did you know where I was?"

Geoff looked back at him, leading from the front with a posture that suggested he was just waiting for someone else to leap out of the bushes to fight him.

He shrugged, looking to the sky as he said, "I'll always know where you are, Michael. You're my mate, I'll never lose you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, people who celebrate it! I'm sure as hell thankful for every single one of you <3

Michael was being steered towards the living room by Jack before he had a chance to notice they were at the front door. As he was passed off from Alpha to Beta he stumbled, counting on their strength to keep him standing. His adrenaline had long since faded (Geoff had practically carried him for the last block) and he was starting to feel as weak and helpless as he had when the Alpha pack had attacked in Little Rock.

 

As soon as his back hit the centre of the loveseat he dropped his head and relaxed into the plush cushions. Ray took a seat on the coffee table; knees open as he rested his elbows on them and leaned forward, watching Michael intently.

 

Though the adrenaline had abated, the overwhelming rush fogging his brain had not; his heart hammered hard against his ribs, his pupils blown, head dizzy. He grounded himself by reaching out--feeling pitiful--for Ray’s hand. It slipped into his, warm and solid in his wavering world.

 

Ryan, who hovered behind brimming with an anxious energy, asked him if he wanted anything, water or food. Michael accepted the offer of water and closed his eyes against the dimmed light burning the walls.

 

After that he was probed with questions, “Where did you go? Why did you leave? What were you thinking?” until the sharp sting of a cold cloth against the back of his neck pulled him out of his thoughts and cut the interrogation short with little more than a shrug from Michael.

 

All the while, Ray’s hand anchored his body.

 

Someone was cleaning the blood from his neck, dabbing at the cuts with gentle hands and a soft damp cloth. A shiver ran down Michael’s spine alongside a dribble of water that cut through the dried sweat on his back.

 

"Are they healing?" Michael asked nervously as the cloth swiped over the wounds again. His eyes were unfocused, his sight blurring Ray in and out.  

 

"Alpha claws," Geoff replied, leaning just into Michael's line of sight before sliding behind him again. Michael's head was pushed forward, hands placed on either side of the cluster of cuts as thumbs probed the area before he finished, "They'll take longer to heal."

 

Michael nodded in understanding. At least they _would_ heal; not like the puckered skin on his forearm. Ryan pushed a glass of water into his hand and ran a damp cloth over his cheeks, cleansing the freckled skin of dried sweat and the trail of an escaped tear he had not felt.

 

“I got lost,” he said in a small voice. Water spilled over the edge of the glass before Michael could take a sip and it was only then that he realised just how much his hands were shaking, quivering. “I just needed some air, it wasn’t my fault.”

 

Ray held the glass while he sipped. The water felt like ice.

 

“It was a dumbass decision,” Geoff scolded lightly, “You’ve barely left the house since you got here, and you presented fucking _yesterday,_ not the time to be going walkabout.”

 

“Well sorry I didn’t predict an Alpha pack confrontation, Geoff, I’m not a psychic,” He tried to sound strong, sarcastic; but his mouth was stuffed with cotton balls, his words coming out like he was choking on razors.

 

Coughing, he turned to his water, glad that Geoff seemed to drop the subject easily.

 

Taking small sips of the water he allowed the feeling of the cool liquid embracing his dry throat to soothe him through the stinging ache of having his wounds cleaned and dressed. He could almost still feel it, the way the claws had sliced through his skin like it was nothing more than soft butter; how his bones had been caressed by the tip of the nails. He could have killed him right there, punctured his arteries or snapped his neck, if not for his mates. If not for them he would have been-

 

"Try not to think about it," Ray whispered calmly, Michael opened his eyes to see his Omega counterpart staring.

 

The uncanny ability that all his mates seemed to possess, which allowed them to constantly know what he was thinking, was starting to wear thin without any option of rebuttal from Michael himself. Hopefully once his body settled, he'd be able to return the favor.

 

Michael's fingers found the cuts, dancing over broken skin, damp from water. "If you hadn't been there-" he started, only to get cut off all too quickly by Ray.

 

"We _were_ there, we'll always be there."

 

He put his hand over Michael’s, a firm, comforting weight; he held tight and smiled. Michael returned it tiredly, catching movement from Ryan as he edged back into Michael’s line of sight.

 

"Next time-" he began, face stern and strong arms crossing his chest.

 

"There won't be a next time, Ryan,” Gavin snapped, tightening a grip on Michael’s shoulders that could easily blossom into bruising.

 

" _Next time,”_ Ryan continued, unperturbed, “You'll be able to fight back."  

 

Michael nodded, “I don’t like being weak,” he said quietly.

 

“You aren’t weak,” Ray said. Michael opened his mouth to speak, to argue but Ryan held up his hand, halting him before he could start.

 

“Ah buh buh, you aren’t strong yet but you’re definitely not weak,” Ryan insisted, the sharp edge to his voice daring Michael to talk back. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now Michael could almost _feel_ the shadowed darkness that seemed to creep into every word Ryan said.

 

It was the same way that Ray glowed with a light shimmer, Gavin radiated red caution, and Jack hummed with calming energy; that trait in particular helped out with Michael’s current situation as the warmth numbed the pain in his neck as the cuts were finally dressed. Geoff didn’t have the same energy--he didn’t so much glow or hum, but instead just breathed an air that was strong, confident-- Alpha.

 

"So you want to, what? Teach him to fight so he can take on Alphas in the street?" Gavin hissed, crushing himself right up to Ryan.

 

"So he can protect himself!" Ryan bit back just as harshly, he may not have had a lot of height on the Alpha but he had the bulk, easily holding himself in a way that said he wasn't going to take any shot Gavin could throw.

 

"He doesn't need to protect himself, he's got us," Gavin argued, a snarl creeping in to lace the words. "We protect him, that's what we do."

 

Ryan scoffed, "Yeah he's doing just _fine_ with you protecting him, not like he just got his fucking neck torn open while you were here moping around in your room!"

 

Gavin scowled, “How was I supposed to know he would go running off like a five year old?”

 

Michael opened his mouth to rip Gavin a new one but the retort died in his throat at the way Ryan’s eyes narrowed and even Geoff seemed to tense up.

 

“Not everyone handles the change like you did, Mr of-course-i’m-an-alpha-i’m-king-of-the-fucking-world!” Ryan snapped with a ferocity that was damn near an Alpha growl. “You think you can just go around saying shit like that to people, to your _mate_ and you think it’s okay? Well fuck you Gavin. _Fuck You-”_

 

“HEY!”

 

The noise stopped short and Michael jumped to his feet, shouldering his way between the two.

 

"Don't I get to say anything?" He snapped.

 

Ryan offered up "Yes,” while the response from Gavin was a hollow, definite “ _No_."

 

Just like that the tension snapped like a taut rubber band. Gavin, with his usual flair of dramatics, shook his head and stalked from the room, grumbling under his breath. The front door slammed a moment later, the walls vibrating with the force as Gavin passed by the front window, already in full sprint.

 

“What is his fucking problem?” Michael growled, edging out of his seat.

 

Geoff let out a huff of frustration and shifted, his muscles bulging and face creasing into his Alpha form. He spat out roughly, “I’ll get him,” and took off after the younger Alpha, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.

 

As silence reigned and the tension began to drift away, Michael leaned back on the couch and didn’t even wince as the claw marks pulled taut. Ray looked shaken, perched on the coffee table stock still like a frightened rabbit, eyes wide and bulging; he, like Michael, felt the effects of the rumbling Alpha to Beta tone.

 

“I’m gonna- I’ll just-” he gave up pretty quickly and stood instead, shuffling out of the room like his knees would give way any second. Ryan followed behind, grumbling about stubborn Alphas under his breath, ringing his hands together to work out the stiffness from clenching his fists.

 

Which left Michael with Jack.

 

The Beta dropped down to sit on the arm of the couch as he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and sighed.

 

Unsure of where the words started to come from, Michael jumped to his own defense immediately, “I don’t know what just happened but it wasn’t my fault.”  

 

Jack shot him a look, a look that suggested that Michael should take just a little responsibility but the Omega resigned himself to standing his ground against the nagging in the back of his head.

 

“I can’t help if Gavin wants to act like a toddler,” He insisted, pouting when Jack bopped him on the nose like a misbehaving puppy.

 

"He's an Alpha without an Omega that's fully his, you can understand that’s gotta be hard for him."

 

Michael swallowed a biting reply "He has Ray, me," he replied instead.

 

" _Geoff_ has you and Ray," Jack corrected, "and me and Ryan and...Gavin, the way our pack dynamic works, he might as well be an Omega, a feisty demanding one but-" he stopped to shake away the train of thought, obviously just as drained as everyone else by the evening’s events. Knitting his thoughts back together he steepled his fingers and spoke through them, "He's hard wired to control a mate, and so far all he's done is become one himself."

 

 _Control_ , Michael hated that word. It was a word he heard a lot growing up in an Alpha pack family. Alpha mates weren’t _loved_ they were _owned_ , _kept;_ Omegas more than Betas they were property, something to be- well, _controlled._ He’d sworn to himself a long time ago, after walking in on an Omega being beaten in the basement for forgetting a direct order, sworn that he would _never_ be that cruel to his future mate--and after meeting his mates, he wouldn’t have expected them to be the types.

 

But Alphas were Alphas, no matter their nurture; their nature would always be the same.

 

“Maybe I don’t want to be controlled,” he growled, surprising even himself at the defiantly _not_ Omega tone edging the words.

 

Jack looked at him with tired eyes and groaned, “ _Michael-”_

 

But even Michael had limits, and he was fast approaching them.

 

“Leave it,” he barked.

 

Jack didn’t even try to retaliate, he left; quickly and silently. Michael huffed, fixing his eyes on the clock above the fireplace--broken, it hadn’t ticked a single time since he arrived. He was being childish, unbelievably so; and he felt as small as a child as he listed to the left and curled up, arms hugging his knees with his face pressed into the couch cushions that smelled like mate. As far as presenting days went, Michael had experienced a shit one--but it could only get better, surely.

 

He fell asleep to the creaking of floorboards above him and the general hum that drifted through the house like a record on loop.

 

\---

 

Geoff and Gavin returned after a couple of hours, chasing the dawn as the sun began to peek over the low horizon. Michael, still lightly dozing on the couch, was awakened rather roughly by Ray pinching his shoulder and giving him a shove when he didn’t immediately wake.

 

“They’re back,” he said, gesturing with an incline of his head towards the stairs where they creak and groan with the weight of the wolf climbing them. Geoff shuffled into the room, yawning; Ray leapt up, vacating his chair he’d only just dropped back into just in time for Geoff to collapse onto it, his legs thrown over the side.

 

“It’s like raising children,” he grumbled before tipping his head down and seemingly falling asleep instantly, soft snoring taking a brief second to begin.

 

Michael stretched, feeling pops all the way up his spine as he extended his arms high above his head.

 

Ray stared at him expectantly, communicating an entire speech silently--across the room. He held the gaze, complaining with his own Amber eyes that Gavin should just stop being a hot head.

 

Without saying a word, Ray told him there's been enough nonsense. Michael grumbled, whined, gave in.

 

Gavin was a stubborn bitch but so was he and he’d already dealt with one falling out that day, nobody needed both of them to be assholes so he nodded at a satisfied (and maybe a little smug) Ray and headed for the stairs.

 

\---

 

Gavin was perched on the edge of their large bed, hunched over with his head in his hands, when Michael tentatively knocks, entering without waiting for permission. He looked like a hot mess, jeans streaked with dirt, sweat cooling on his torn shirt, he’d obviously shifted before running.

 

“Mr Grumpy back from his sulk is he?”

 

Gavin looked up just long enough to scowl, “Piss off Michael.” His eyes were bloodshot, too.

 

“Oo, someone needs a nap,” Michael replied, trying for a lightening the moment feel but instead instantly feeling apologetic at the baby voice he adopted, and the disappointment on the young Alpha’s face. “Sorry, didn’t mean it, I think we’ve both had enough arguments for one day.”

 

Gavin tilted his head in agreement and slumped further, his spine curving--and Michael knew it couldn’t be comfortable. He moved a shuffle to the left, creeping closer to the headboard. He didn’t need to, there was plenty of room for Michael to find a space for himself but the movement was an invitation, a white flag of surrender and Michael took it with a smile. He dropped down heavily enough for the bed to spring them both back and it pulled the smallest twitch of a smile from Gavin; and Michael grinned back.

 

“How’s the neck feel?”

 

Michael perked up in surprise, fingers darting to the dressing between his shoulders, “Oh- I, I forgot about it, doesn’t hurt at all,” he said. It was true that it didn’t hurt, but the puncture points throbbed as his fingers dug in. Gavin didn’t miss the wince, “Well maybe a little.”

 

Gavin uncurled to reach around his back, peeling away the gauze. Apparently the healing process satisfied him because he lays it back down seconds later, smoothing down the tape with soft hands.

 

“ _Micoo’s_ a proper wolf now,” Gavin announced, purposely butchering the name even more than normal and it made Michael laugh so hard he almost missed the sweep of sadness that crossed Gavin’s featured, darkening his eyes.

 

“Oh and what counts as a proper wolf, sourpuss?”

 

“Got your healing,” he leaned in slightly, twitching his large nose as he inhaled, “that luscious Omega scent,” Michael blushed and Gavin knocked shoulders with him. “Just gotta get you howling at the moon.”

 

Michael shoved him, smiling.

 

“Super speed and strength, too,” Michael added, trying to give a pointed look at Gavin but the other had gone silent again, his thoughts drifting.

 

Michael cut himself short; swallowing his pride and breathing deep he informed, "I get that with you too, Gavin- That need to obey," he clarified as Gavin’s eyebrows knitted together, "It...hurts to say no to you."

 

"I don't want to _hurt_ you, Michael," Gavin gasped, groaning in wounded distress. His skin cracked dirt and sweat as he frowned.

 

"Not like that dumbass," Michael laughed, bumping Gavin with his shoulder. He waved his hands around like he could tie the thoughts together in the air, “It’s like...if I say no then i get this pull right in my gut and my head is telling me to turn the fuck around and say yes,” his fingers lingered on the space between his ribs and his belly, feeling phantom tugging before dismissing it through a single, sharp shake of his head.

 

Gavin looked wide eyed, “Really?” his eyes sparkled, so much so that Michael could have rolled his eyes at the eagerness being displayed at the mere _thought_ that he was reeling in some control over the newest wolf.

 

"Gee don't sound too put out," the Omega said with sarcasm as his eyes rolled but neither took it seriously. Gavin smiled, laughed; Michael did the same.

 

Fighting down the urge to say fuck it to his placating gesture, Michael fixed Gavin with a serious look, “ _Really,_ as far as I’m concerned there are two Alpha’s in this house and Geoff’s not the only top dog.”

 

He was exaggerating for Gavin’s benefit and he could tell that Gavin knew that but the smile on his face was genuine, and he spoke with sincerity when he said, “Thanks Michael.”

 

“But I’m _absolutely_ taking Ryan up on his offer to fight, I turned down boxing as a kid and I really wanna know how to throw a punch without breaking my fucking hand.”

 

Gavin barked out a laugh and nodded in acceptance.

 

“Fair enough,” he said, still laughing, linking his fingers with Michael’s over the sheets.

 

Michael scooched closer, a single shuffle that brought him hip to hip with his mate and sighed. He hadn’t noticed until now how heavy the upset had weighed heavy on his heart, but he definitely felt the lack of it once Gavin’s steady breathing drifted across his neck.

 

A sequence of short, sharp knocks rock the door.

 

“Hey! You two kissed and made up yet? I wanna fucking sleep!”

 

Gavin’s hand lingered on Michael’s for a moment longer, caressing his fingers as he pulled away and yanked the door open to the view of Geoff sleepily leaning against the wall-- with an announcement of “All better!” he embraced Geoff, his whole weight listing the both of them sideways until his back hit the doorframe and Geoff gleefully pushed him away.

 

While Gavin pouted, displeased by the rejection, Michel and Geoff both laughed; Geoff at the noise of disdain and Michael at the mischievous smile that played on Geoff’s lips as he stumbled to the bed and rolled onto it.

 

Michael’s body took a kicking as Geoff wriggled into position and wormed his way under the sheets; and he followed the motion dutifully when his limbs were being pulled down.

 

"How do you feel?" Geoff whispered against his neck once they were comfortably settled together on the bed.

 

Michael lifted Geoff's hand from where it had easily come to rest on his hip, draping it across his chest, clasping the warm hand where it rested against his heart; and considered. It had been a day, a hell of a day; an out of the blue bundle of stress and only with Geoff's body in such close contact could he feel his heart slowing to a normal pace.  Gavin (who had vanished out of sight) would be back soon, along with Ray and probably the Betas. They would fill the bed to the brim, push and shove until they fit together like Tetris pieces. 

 

Until then, Michael could enjoy the warmth of his Alpha against his back; the safe security that came with that scent and pressure, and all the stress, frustration, and tension bled away to nothing.

 

"Perfectly okay, Alpha." He whispered back.

 

Even if it wouldn't last, right then and there it felt like everything could be normal.

 


End file.
